Strange things are afoot at the El Coyote Gordo. The chipmunks are craving raw meat, the campground is open way too late in the year, and the tacos are fantastic. Enter Sid Singleton, our narrator whose primary mode of communication is sarcasm. Singleton is resourceful and wiry, loves tacos, and always knows what’s playing on the jukebox.
Flashbacks aside, the action takes place almost entirely in and around the El Coyote campground and restaurant, in the course of a single day and night of one zombie outbreak. Aykler thus observes the Aristotelian Unities, perhaps betraying a background in the theatre. The flashbacks progressively reveal bits of Singleton’s past, a structure that almost broke our brains when “Lost” did it but now seems somewhat stale. It doesn’t help that Singleton has two blank periods in his history – one the result of amnesia, the other due to being in “stasis” for three years. As a result, it can be haphazard trying to keep things straight – but don’t try too hard.
See, Singleton is infected but not a zombie. For reasons we don’t know yet, the virus has made him impervious to all harm (including other zombies) with Wolverine-esque healing abilities. In response his company, Silvercrest, has been sending him around the world to clean up after zombie outbreaks – sort of a ServPro for zombies. But now, his friend Ziggy has spirited him away from the place, again for reasons we don’t know yet. Ziggy clearly knows more than he is saying – but wants to protect Singleton from the toxic contents of his own memory. By the time the two of them walk into the bar, the infection has already taken hold.
Zombie literature is by now a grand tradition, and Aykler makes sure to include a handful of stock characters right out of the playbook: The well-meaning but overconfident mad scientist; the corporate badass who probably isn’t just there for a holiday; the louche, unpredictable best friend with the comically nonspecific Eastern European accent; and of course, dozens and dozens of zombies. But there are hints here too of something more on the horizon: A mysterious red mist, a hastily administered would-be vaccine that may or may not have horrific side effects, and the fact that the virus has jumped species (to chipmunks, no less).
Because of its narrow scope, Aykler compensates by going deep into the details – Proust-like, but Singleton’s trigger is not a madeleine but a taco. We get a three-page disquisition on the unmatched beauty of these tacos, which makes the El Coyote somewhat less seamy than it at first seemed. Aykler also goes into microscopic detail on the house margarita, man-purses, coffee-making techniques, headlamps, salsa fresca, bar signs, the pom-poms on the rim of a sombrero, aluminum bats, t-shirt designs, and of course all the sounds and smells of zombiedom. In a lesser writer this might clog up the action and slow things down, but this is a tight fast novelette and the details go by like telephone poles outside a train window, adding depth but not complexity. Could have benefitted from the attentions of a proofreader, but Aykler is light on his feet and doesn’t dwell on things.
So, don’t be surprised to discover that this is only the beginning – an opening salvo. By the end Singleton has gotten away from the El Coyote Gordo, but it’s clear that worse is yet to come in Volumes 2 and 3.