Welcome to the Dark Carnival, Homie

Of all the things to be doing in a zombie apocalypse, fixing makeup would probably be low on the rung. At least, for most people it would be. For most men it would be probably at nothing.

Phantom Jester wasn't your normal man. Obviously. I mean, look at his name for Christ's sake.

Jess was sitting in a tent, which was part of a caravan of traveling freaks. He had run across it as he was looking for a way to the freeway, and he had found their makeup room. It was like a dream come true. He took a few light items to take with him, and then patched up his makeup while he was there. He only wished he had come across the caravan when everyone was still alive. He would have burglarized the shit out of it without any regrets.

When the juggalo finished with his makeup, he set out again, wielding his trusty set of clubs. At one time they had been silver, the color of the metal they were made completely out of, but now they were coated in flaky red dried blood. Jess paid it no mind, and continued on his way.

The freeway was a sight to be seen. All the cars clogged on the way out of the city, none of them coming in. Jess almost laughed. This was like heaven for a pickpocket like himself. So much to steal...Too bad it wasn't necessary anymore. He couldn't help but case a few of the cars anyway. Habit.

That was how he noticed the sheriff's car, however. Those things always had a radio in 'em. That was how he'd try and get a hold of someone. Being alone wasn't his style; he needed someone to watch his back. He really wished his juggalo friends hadn't up and went to Echo Side. He could use them right about now.

He was lucky; the car was unlocked. He slipped into the passengers seat and grabbed the radio. It was making faint static. Someone had to be out there. He toyed with it for a moment, before he figured out how to work it.

"Hello? Anybody out there? Uh, over. I guess." His voice was horrid. He'd always hated it, but now it sounded cracked and dried. He needed some water. He hoped the person he met up with had water.

He was positive someone else was out there.

"Who the fuck is this?" came the gruff response from the other end of the radio.

Two miles away, barricaded in his shed, was the former sheriff of the area. His shirt was smeared with blood, but he paid it no mind; he had bigger things to worry about. He gripped his spare radio more tightly, his knuckles turning white; if another officer was alive and well, he sure as hell could use the help.

"This is no time to be fucking around--respond if you're alive. This is the sheriff, and that's a goddamn order." he had always had a bad habit of swearing; his wife hated it. He dug his nails into his palm, trying to stifle the memories--it would do no good to remember her now that she was gone. This day had been coming for quite some time, and he was in serious shit. Now was the time to be strong.

"Oh, yeah, uh. Hi." Jess replied, toying with the curly wire of the radio. He almost forgot to respond because of it. "So, who are you? I hope you aren't one of those bigots; that'd be the worst turn of events I ever faced on this earth, homie."

Outside the car, something stirred. Jess glanced over. Not surprisingly it was a zombie. It was about ten cars away, though; he had time to spare.

"Excuse me?" he asked, barely restraining his temper. This could not be good for his blood pressure. "Fucking excuse me?" he persisted, regardless. "I'm the goddamn sheriff--I asked, who the fuck are you?! If you're some punk who broke into a car, I swear--no, no...I don't care who you are. Just tell me your name, tell me where you are. If you're a civilian, I'll come protect you."

"Oh, uh." Jess grinned. Oh, the sheriff could not have said something better. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a citizen. I need a whole bunch of wicked protection and stuff. I, uh, my car, it was on the freeway and I saw the radio and figured someone else might be out there..."

The lies wouldn't stop coming. It was as if he had diarrhea of the mouth.

"...Anyway, I'm totally not a lawbreaker so you should, like, not think that." He yawned, glancing at the zombie. Five, no four cars away now. "Well, I'm gonna have to step it to this zombie and give him a wig split, so I'll be right back, homie."

"What?!" he exclaimed, growing red in the face. "No--where the fuck are you going?! Get shelter, you fucktard--what exit are you near?!" He screamed a constant stream of questions at the radio, covering it in spit. Maybe Maggie was right; maybe he needed medication for his rage. But drugs could wait until after he was done with his job, and right now his job was protecting stupid civilians from the undead.

"Oh, uh, I'm on the highway..."

Three cars.

"Uh, we should meet up, like, where are you, man?"

Two cars.

"Yo, one sec."

Phantom Jester armed himself with one the juggling clubs he adored so much. With the solid steel in hand, he smashed the rotten corpse into the hood of the closest car. Of course, this caused an unlucky chain of events.

The car with the smashed zombie began to beep. Then the car next to it. So on and so forth until the hole motherfuckin' highway was a huge mass of beeps.

Jess was suddenly less confident in his zombie fighting abilities.

"Yo, uh, hey, you still there, homie? I, uh..." He lost his train of thought, thinking for a moment. "I'm kind of fucked up here."

"Fuck," Jake hissed. "Fuckity fuck fuck." Swearing felt oddly pleasurable at times like this; Jake felt like he was spitting his own displeasure into to world, poisoning it and showing it who was boss. Maggie wouldn't have understood that, so he had never mentioned it.

"I'm coming to get you, alright?" he shouted into the radio, grabbing his rifle. "I'll just follow the fucking beeps...I don't know who the fuck you are, but you're some piece of work."

"Yeah, yeah man...Uh, I should be fine for about..." He calculated slowly in his mind, churning the numbers. "...round ten minutes tops."

Yes, he could last ten minutes. Seven minutes before he lost the energy to swing the large metal clubs. Then he would have to resort to his small, useless handgun. He knew that wouldn't last long at all. All he got out of that was about seventeen shots. If he aimed well, which he wouldn't, he could last a few minutes longer.

"FUCK!" he exclaimed, and with that, he bolted out the door to his truck.

Abandoning the police car, Jess slowly made his way through the cars. Weaving through them was hell, but he hadn't yet attracted too much attention. It had been lucky so many cars went off at once; it attracted the zombies to the alarms. For now, anyway.

Jess had it to the end of the row of cars, and then he realized. He was in the open and the zombies were beginning to get tired of car alarms. They had seen him. Some, anyway.

He smashed through the few in his way, but it was tiring already. He hoped that this didn't become his last stand. What a stupid motherfuckin' way to die. There wasn't any way he was gonna die like this.

Still. He hoped the police guy got here soon.

A truck approached on the horizon, sirens blaring. Jake ran over three zombies with remorse before swerving to a stop in front of the traffic. He obnoxiously honked his horn.

"Get the fuck over here, whoever you are!" he shouted, picking off the zombies one by one with his rifle as they approached his car.

Jess didn't waste anytime scrambling into the passengers side of the truck. He smashed a zombie that was crawling into the window, cutting it in half. He threw the rest of the body onto the side of the road, got in and slammed the door. He locked it, for good measure.

Jake hit the gas, reversing over two more zombies and speeding away. He wasn't even sure where they were going; his only thoughts were of getting away, and fast.

Once they were a comfortable distance away from any zombies, he turned to his passenger. His face reddened at the sight; this kid was one of those goddamn clown-worshipping punks, he knew it. Nonetheless, he was a civilian, and the only company Jake had right now--as Maggie would've said, he should make the best of it.

"So," he said, his voice quiet and hoarse. It had less to do with restraint and more to do with how much he had been yelling. "You're the one who contacted me, right? The guy on the radio."

Jess wasn't really listening, though. He had pulled down the visor and was using it to fix his makeup. He rummaged through his bag until he found the small makeup kit he was cherishing at this moment. His makeup had gotten smudged. He couldn't speak until it was fixed.

"Oh, uh...yeah. That was me..." He smiled at Jake, his makeup pristine over his scarred face. "My name is Phantom Jesster. Uh, you can call me Jess though. Like, it's my juggalo name, so...I dunno if you're, uh, even supposed to use it really since, uh, you don't look like you're even a juggalo...Unless you are. Are you, motherfuckin' cop man?"

"Don't fucking swear at me," he hissed through gritted teeth. "What's your real name, punk? Not gonna call your Mom, but I'll make you a deal--my name for yours. No 'Sheriff' or 'Ghost Clown', just people."

Jess grew quiet for a moment, which although was not unnatural for him, was strange in this situation.

"...That is my real name." He insisted, for the first time in a very long time, with any real force behind his words. "It is my real name."

He glared at Jess for a moment; once he had decided he was telling the truth, he nodded.

"Jess," he grunted, testing the name out. "Fair enough. The name's Jake Miller, I'm the sheriff around these parts. Now tell me--what the hell were you doing out there? You don't look old enough to drive to me. Can you even see over a steering wheel, kid?"

Jess smiled again, relaxing immediately after Jake had accepted his name.

"Uh, yeah." He replied slowly. "I'm uh, well about...maybe...twenty-somethin'. I don't remember too well my age. I know I'm old enough to drink, though. I, uh, must be at least twenty-one then I guess..."

He let out a small, strangled noise. It was actually a laugh, but it didn't sound like one.

"I forget a lot of things, sometimes." He said honestly. "But, uh, no, I, uh didn't actually drive here. I walked from, uh, the circus a while up after, uh, I kind of killed everyone in my family."

By family, Jess meant his fellow juggalos, of course.

"Tough fucking tits, kid," said Jake, pulling a cigarette out of the glove compartment. "I killed the love of my life this morning--no offense, but I don't give a shit about your family right now. I'll probably feel horrible about it later, but I can only feel so much guilt at one time, eh?"

"I, uh...I know how you feel." He said, sincerity seeping through his strange speech. "It's...unpleasant. I didn't even motherfuckin' mean to do it, homie..."

He attempted to wipe the blood and guts off of his clubs, in order to distract himself.

"Uh...I dunno 'bout you, but...I kind of don't like this turn of events."

"...Yeah," grunted Jake less angrily. "Me neither. But there's not much we can do now--unless you know something I don't?"

Jake wished the juggalo would put up a fight, swear at him--anything to make him angry again. Now that his rage was fading, only his immense grief was left behind. It was far less pleasant.

"I know you should motherfuckin' smash in zombies when they come after ya." He tried to smile at this semblance of a joke. "...uh that's not even funny, bro. It just makes me feel kind of, uh...queasy."

Talking about it didn't make him feel better, so he decided to change the subject.

"You know what'd be motherfuckin' ace right now? Some new clothes." He said instead. "I, uh, I'd really like it if we could maybe lift some from a house around here or something."

The guy was a cop, so what? Everyone was dead, what was a little bit of looting here and there?

He glared at him.

"No looting. I'm gonna get gas up ahead; we'll find a store in town." He coughed awkwardly. "...Since it's an emergency, I suppose I could pay for some clothes for you. But only because you're a civilian."

He smiled, then laughed.

"It's like a motherfuckin' miracle. A good ol' sheriff buying me some nice clothes." He laughed again, his strange, not very joyful sounding laugh. "I, uh, like the idea. Thanks, bro."