After talking with Ron I didn’t want to talk to anyone else—maybe ever. I walked the perimeter of the fence probably a dozen times before I reneged on my communication blackout. Gary had almost everybody doing something on the truck retrofitting.
“How much longer?” I asked him through a shower of sparks as he cut through the side of the truck with a torch.
“Couple of hours at the most,” he replied, not stopping what he was doing.
I walked out.
“Where you going, Talbot?” BT asked, catching up to me.
“I’m going to bury my niece,” I told him.
“You said there were zombies all over the place.”
“I know.”
“It’ll be dangerous and foolhardy.”
“I know that, too.”
“You’re still going to do it, aren’t you.” He said as a statement and not a question.
“I have to, man. I don’t have a choice,” I told him, my voice quavering a bit.
“Don’t give me any shit; I’m coming with you this time.”
I didn’t say anything; his company was welcome. He came back a couple of minutes later with some spades he had dug out of a maintenance shed.
“Yeah, that’d probably help,” I told him, grabbing one.
“Mike?” Tracy asked, coming out from the garage.
“I have to, Tracy.”
“Hurry back,” she said, giving me a small kiss that gave me the strength I needed to do what had to be done.
I saw Tommy watching us as we left. I was wondering if he had any thoughts or visions of what lay before us. I’d been thinking a lot about the kid and the first time we’d met. I didn’t know if he actually had a spirit guide that showed him signs or omens, or if it was his own self and he had developed that guise. I guess in the end, it didn’t matter. He’d saved us many times with his prophecies, the only thing was, he hadn’t had any in a long while. I wasn’t sure if it was because whatever well he had been dipping in had run dry or the future was so bleak he didn’t want to share it.
Travis locked up the gate after we walked out. “Tell her I said goodbye,” Travis said before turning away.
He’d only just gotten his man-card and didn’t want to damage it too much so soon. It’s perfectly acceptable to cry when no one can see you. He hadn’t been overly close with his cousin, but they were family and they’d shared enough laughs that he would miss her shining face.
So there we were, two men walking down a street in a zombie infested town, carrying shovels, heads bowed.
“You gonna be alright?” BT asked me.
“Oh, I would imagine eventually,” I said, finally gazing at something besides the pavement in front of my feet. “She was Ron’s firstborn, apple of his damn eye. Daddy’s little princess and all that. I’m trying to wrap my head around all of this. What if it was Ron telling me he had to kill Nicole because she was a zombie? I don’t think I could take it, man.” And BT watching or not, tears were flowing.
“You know I’m not good at this, right?” BT asked as he wrapped me in a hug.
“Still appreciated,” I mumbled into his chest.
“We really should get going,” he told me.
“I know.” I slowly pulled myself away. “Thank you.” We didn’t say anything else until we began to approach the apartment building. Maybe he was embarrassed or maybe he was pissed at the snot I’d left on his shirt.
“We’re here,” I said, ducking behind a small hedgerow.
“There are definitely zombies around.” He wrinkled his nose.
“I’m just hoping it’s the dead ones,” I said as I poked my head up to look at the staircases. They were littered with zombies, some still moving, albeit not in a vertical position. Severed spines and broken necks or blown off legs were making any true form of locomotion difficult. The problem was that they would be able to communicate with their brethren if they caught wind of us.
“That’s gross,” BT said, pointing to a zombie that was pulling itself along the ground with its chin,. Glass and stone were embedded on the bottom of its face, blood was pouring from the wound as it shredded the soft skin. Leaving something akin to a giant red snail-trail
“I wonder what pulled zombie tastes like?” I asked. “I can’t help it, the meat strips hanging off its chin remind me of barbecue. No one ever said I was right in the head.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“What are we waiting for?” BT asked as he watched my concern. “None of them here can catch us.”
“The zombies can talk to each other,” I told him as I got back down behind cover.
He looked at me for a bit. He didn’t question my statement in the least. “I really hate zombies.”
“That makes two of us. We need to finish off the survivors as quickly as possible.”
BT grabbed his rifle.
“Nope.” I pulled my machete from its scabbard.
“Oh come on, man, I’m clean. I’ve got on new shoes. You’ve gotta know how much brothers value new shoes.”
“Take them off then.”
“That’s cold, man. That’s just cold.”
He might have thought it was ‘cold’ but he was serious about the shoes. He took them off, tied the laces together, hung them around his neck, and then put them down his shirt.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“How the fuck do I always get accused of having the issues?”
“You tell anybody about this and we’re through.”
“Nice socks.” He was wearing argyle.
“Just because it’s the end of the world doesn’t mean I should dress that way.”
“I’d love to debate high-fashion with you, but I want to get this shit over with.”
“Don’t let me stop you.”
“Damn, are there zombies close by?” I asked, looking around quickly.
BT was on high alert.
“False alarm,” I said, looking at his socks.
“My feet do not stink!”
“Says you,” I told him as I stood. I wanted to come up on the side of the zombies and give them as little time to shout a warning or a dinner bell. BT was right behind. I won’t even go into the litany of curses he expressed when his sock-clad foot came down in what we both hoped was dog crap.
“Don’t say a fucking word.” He bent and gingerly pulled off his sock.
“Damn, your toes look like sausages. And I’m not talking those little cocktail wieners either. Those are like full grilling sausages. Get a bun and some sautéed onions, someone could have a feast.”
“Shut the fuck up, Talbot.”
“Spicy mustard.”
He glared at me. I did the wise thing and went silent…for a second or two.
“And not that I like it, but maybe that German coleslaw looking stuff.
“It’s sauerkraut and shut the fuck up.”
“Well, I know who I’m eating first if I go cannibal.”
“Done?”
“I wonder how they’d grill up? Alright, alright, I’m sorry…it’s my coping mechanism. Do you use ketchup on brats?”
“As soon as I’m done with the zombies me and you are going to have a talk.”
We were about ten feet away when the first zombie caught sight or wind of us—probably smelled BT. I drove my machete through the relatively soft part of its skull where its nose was. I wrenched it free just as BT was bludgeoning another. I hoped he wasn’t noticing the gore that had sprayed all over his chest and was even now most likely soaking through to the shoes he was so adamant about protecting. We moved quickly, putting the zombies down, I caught some ‘chatter’ in the back of my head but it was weak and not sustained. I felt fairly confident that, by the time we finished off the five or six that were still alive, they had not successfully gotten off a distress beacon. Not that they were all that altruistic to begin with or they wouldn’t have left their fallen here. If they started to care about their own, we’d be over. Dying for others was a uniquely human trait and signified a higher order of thought, one of the few things that separated us from other animals.
Now, that is in no way implying that I think all humans are better than all animals, far from it. I’d had enough examples even before the zombies to prove that. I’m just saying that if zombies started looking out for their own, any odds of man making a comeback would be greatly reduced.
I put my hand on BT’s arm, halting his progress as I went up the stairs. Each step seemed harder than the one before it. By the time I got to the top, I didn’t think I was going to be able to move my feet; it was not ‘like’ a nightmare, it was one. My niece still lay where I had shot her. She looked almost peaceful. I had to hope I had put her out of some misery. I placed one hand under her neck and the other under her knees. She was so light. My throat closed in pain as I picked her up. I just wanted her to wrap her arms around my neck and tell me she was alright and that I had saved her. Instead, her arms hung limply from her body. The deep purplish color on her features destroyed any fantasy I could possibly have that she yet lived.
“Some fucking hero I am,” I said as I descended the stairs.
“I’m so sorry, man.” BT said as he watched me carry her down.
I couldn’t say anything more. To speak would have opened up the floodgates. There was a park in the center of town I remembered seeing when we had come in; that seemed as fitting a place as any to lay her to rest, and it would be easy enough for Ron and his family to find and visit when and if they would someday get a chance.
The wise and prudent thing to do would have been to dig a few feet down and lay her in peace. We went down six. How could I ever explain it to my brother if hungry dogs dug her up? We were almost at completion when I realized nothing would touch her, she was contaminated. Odds were, even the worms would steer clear. This was doing little to help my mood, which was already as sour as old lemonade.
I was putting the last few shovelfuls on top. BT sat down at a bench and was putting his shoes back on, grumbling about some stains or something. But I knew he was really trying to focus on anything other than what was going on. Hell, if I cared enough about my shoes I would have been right next to him.
“You going to say a prayer?” he asked as I tossed the shovel aside.
“Why? God already failed.”
“Take that back.” BT stood.
Well, now I was going to deal with the wrath of God and the wrath of BT, and BT was closer near as I could tell.
“He doesn’t mean that,” BT said, looking up, I guess trying to cover for my blasphemy.
Honestly, I don’t know if I meant it or not. I’d had my issues with faith since I’d turned thirteen and, as a teenager, decided I knew it all. Thus far, my immediate family was safe, but at what cost? I’d lost a son-in-law, my best friend and his wife, my niece, my father, and my soul. God charged more interest than a mafia don. Still, it could be worse…infinitely worse.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I bowed my head. “Sometimes the burden gets too great.” I didn’t get an actual response, but I swear I got the sensation of ‘I’ll let it slide this time’.
BT stepped up, and for that I was appreciative. “God, please let this girl lie in peace, and let her family find solace in the fact that she is out of pain,” BT said, wringing his hands together. I did make the sign of the trinity upon my chest and we left.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” BT asked when we were far enough away from the gravesite--as if at this distance the big guy wouldn’t hear him. “Pissing me off is one thing, pissing your wife off is another more stupid thing. But Him?” He pointed up. “What is wrong with you?”
“He understands,” I told him.
“You say that like you met.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Wait? Did you? Forget it I really don’t want to know.”
“He doesn’t like Jar Jar Binks…He told me so,” I said.
“That doesn’t prove you met God, but if you did, I guess that does make Him wise. Forget it. I don’t even want to know how the conversation went. Knowing you, I can’t believe He didn’t just strike you down where you were.”
“That’s kind of funny, because that’s what I said to him.”
“You’re kidding right? Forget it, man. You’re fucking nuttier than trail mix.”
We walked a little further, an uneasy silence building between us.
Finally BT spoke again in hushed tones, “Did He say anything about me?”
“He did say something about maybe picking my friends better, but most of the conversation revolved around Star Wars.”
“I’m done with you, man. My momma always said crackers were crazy, something about their white skin not being able to stop the sun from cooking their brains.” He widened his stride to pull away from me.
I smiled, with no idea why I thought poking the giant was a good idea, but just being around him lightened my heart. He was as true a friend as I had ever walked in life with, and the sooner we could find Doc and get him fixed up, the better. Just as the first rays of brightness cut through the fog that had enshrouded me, I watched as BT’s steps faltered. He went down quickly to one knee, his right hand shot out and grabbed a hold of the chain link fence next to him. That kept him from falling over. I rushed up to his side. His face was twisted in agony.
“BT?” I asked in alarm.
“I’m alright,” he hissed through his clenched jaw.
“Doubtful. Is it your leg?”
“Worse.”
Fuck. I knew what that meant. “Don’t hate me for this,” I told him. I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I picked him up much like I had Melanie earlier and honestly it wasn’t even that much more strain. I would imagine it would have looked pretty funny to an outsider; it would have looked like Beauty carrying the Beast. Of course I’m the beauty, I’m sure you can figure out who the beast was in this statement. He had to have been in a crap-load of pain, because he didn’t so much as grunt at me as I started running back to the DPW yard.
The extra strength I possessed made him feel like I was carrying a kid around ten-ish—so, not a great burden—but after a while, even that will begin to weigh in on your reserves. I was pondering how long I thought I could keep this pace up with him in my arms when I caught sight of movement through my peripheral vision.
“Zombies, always zombies. Couldn’t be a fucking ice cream truck or maybe a herd of cute little deer. Nope has to be fucking zombies.”
“Ice cream would be nice,” BT wheezed.
I took a quick glance to my side. I had about a half mile to get to where I needed to be, and if I was doing my head-math right, I was going to come up short in this equation. The half dozen or so zombies had taken an angle on us and would catch up in the next couple of street poles.
“I’ve got something for you to eat!” I shouted.
I was pissed off at the world right now. I put BT down as gently as I could, my arms felt not quite like rubber, but they were throbbing a bit. I grabbed my machete at first.
“Screw that.”
I let it fall back into its sheath. I pulled my rifle off my shoulder, pulled back the charging handle a couple of inches to make sure I had a round in the chamber, flipped off the safety, and sprayed the closest zombie with three quick rounds.
“How’s that feel, fucker!?” I shouted as his head mushroomed and he fell backwards smashing his already shattered skull. “That’s so damn good I bet you want some too, you ugly fucker!” I said to the second approaching zombie.
The first round caught him in the chest, the second in the head. It snapped back and then fell face forward. Nothing stopping his torque as he plummeted, the crack of skull on pavement made a satisfying ‘thwack’.
“Good shit, right?” I asked his still form.
Then the damn zombies did something I wasn’t expecting. The remaining five stopped running towards me. I lowered my rifle a little bit.
“What’s the matter, you guys not hungry enough? Am I not tasty looking enough for you? What about my friend over here, he could feed a fucking village!”
BT feebly put up his hand in protestation. “Leave me out of this.”
The zombies had just plain stopped their forward progress. Don’t get me wrong, they were eyeing us hungrily, but I could also see they were assessing the risk and reward of this venture.
“Not a damn fan of smart zombies!” I shouted, blasting a third into whatever hell it belonged.
They had to have been talking, because they turned and ran at the same time; not far though. Just far enough to watch, but not close enough that they figured I would shoot at them.
I stood there a few moments longer, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. When it became clear that the ones left were not going to charge, I guessed it was time to leave. I released my magazine, quickly jammed in some new rounds, and then put it back in the magazine well. When I looked back up, one of the zombies had vanished, my guess was to go and get his whole damn village. BT was pulling himself up.
“You alright?” I asked, grabbing him under the arm.
“Better, it’s passed.”
He said it like he was familiar with it. “This has happened before?”
“Ever since I’ve been bit, been getting more frequent since Eliza died, though, and more painful.”
“It’s progressing.”
“At least we know where Justin gets it from,” he said as he stood up completely. “You tell anybody you were carrying me and I’ll sneeze on everything you own.”
“That hurts, man, but we have a deal.”
BT pretty much kept his gaze forward as if every step was a chore. I, however, stopped every few paces to do a three-sixty and see if we were yet being pursued. Our small tailing contingent stayed back about fifty yards and on the other side of the street. It was not a welcome feeling to have them stalking us like that. Herding came into my head on more than one occasion.
“We need to step it up, bud,” I told BT.
He grunted but did as I asked. I had the distinct impression we were being led to the slaughter. The zombies behind followed diligently, never pressing the attack, just like the good little sheepherders they were. And then I saw two things almost simultaneously; one was rejoice worthy, the other…not so much. As we rounded a bend on Chestnut Drive, I saw the front gate to the public works yard…and also a shitload of zombies sprinting headlong towards us. They would pass by the gate coming towards us before we would have a chance to get there.
“I see them,” BT said. He pulled his gun up, his hands visibly shaking. I knew it was from the pain and not the sight of the zombies.
Tommy and Travis were at the gate. They had heard my earlier shots and were looking for any signs of trouble when they saw the zombie horde.
“Going to need some help!” I yelled, getting Travis’ attention.
“Justin! Gary! Mom!” he yelled behind him as I watched him get his rifle up.
Tommy was already cycling rounds through his weapon. Travis was soon behind him, adding his lead to the fight. BT and I were firing as we moved. Within short seconds, Tracy and Justin joined the mix. The zombies paid them absolutely no heed as they passed by even as scores of them were being rendered dead. If my magazine had not run dry at just that moment, I would have missed the zombies from the rear. They had started coming for us once they saw that we were distracted. I had been fumbling in my pocket for my loaded magazine when I caught sight of them.
“Son of a bitch,” I said as I slammed the magazine home and spun, firing with less than three feet between me and the nearest one. I’d only had enough time to get the barrel up about chest high before he tried to impale himself on it. I shot two rounds center mass into him attempting to create some distance between us. The second round must have caught him in the spine. It was enough to push him back off my muzzle and allow me to raise the rifle up. His forehead sizzled as he made contact with the hot metal.
“Nice brand, bitch,” I said as I double-tapped his skull.
He fell away just as his girlfriend came up to get in on the action. An anemic, crack addict with an eating disorder couldn’t have looked worse than the thing that begged me to kill her. I happily obliged. The first round caught her in her brown, cracked teeth. The second blew the top of her patchy haired scalp clean off. The third and final zombie from the back stopped in mid-street and was looking to pull his iron out of the fire. I didn’t give him the chance.
“You’re like those little fucking yippy dogs that always wait for the person to turn around before they nip at people’s heels,” I was screaming as I advanced. “Well no more ankles for you to bite, fucker!” Two rounds later and he became a stain on the roadway.
I turned back to the front. We were screwed. The zombies had made it past the Talbot family gauntlet. There was nowhere to run.
“It’s been a pleasure, my friend,” I said to BT as I started firing.
“See, Talbot? This is what pissing off God does for you! Crazy-ass cracker.”
BT was in the midst of reloading and I had a pretty good count on my rounds. I would take as much time as I could between shots so that we would not both be empty at the same time. BT’s hands were shaking so bad that he fumbled and dropped his magazine.
Frustration welled up in me and threatened to come out in an anguished scream. Not sure what that would accomplish, and there really wasn’t any sense in my last dying words being a dick to my friend. It was then that I heard—well I guess we, I saw BT’s head pop up and realized he’d heard it too—the deep throaty roar of a powerful engine revving. This was going to be one of those few times when the zombies being smarter actually worked out in our favor. Not all, but at least some stopped to see what was going on. This gave me enough time to pop another magazine in. Two more after this one and then it was machete time. Oh boy, couldn’t wait for that! Nothing quite like being covered in hot entrails.
I popped off a few rounds, reached down and grabbed BT’s lost magazine. He thanked me with his eyes as I placed his magazine in. We were both up and shooting. The distraction was giving us a little breathing room. Damn near jumped out of my socks when I heard the large ‘blat’ of the truck horn. Knowing Gary, he’d super-charged it so that it sounded more like something a five hundred ton train would be making. I saw a giant shower of sparks as the truck hit a small dip in the parking lot. The plow dug into the soft pavement and sent a plume of pebbles into the air.
The truck smashed into the now Talbot-vacated gate. The chain held, the fence did not. At least a thirty-foot of section folded down like a paper airplane. Scores of smelly bastards were getting the Play-Doh treatment as their bodies were being shoved through four-inch squares. Zombie spaghetti sounded like about the worst thing ever. Meatballs would forever take on a new meaning. The plow was bouncing around like Gary had outfitted it with hydraulics; which wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Some zombies began to scatter, others were a little slower on the uptake as the giant steel blade bore down on them, and then there were still the ones that were coming towards BT and me.
It wouldn’t do any good to get rescued if we were dead. Gary was like that mechanical arm that comes down to clean out the pins while you’re bowling. Zombies were being hurtled into space, dragged under the blade or run over, any of which caused instantaneous visual horrors. I wasn’t sure how the timing of this was going to work. Gary at his present speed and direction was just as likely to hit us as the zombies he was saving us from. We were pinned down and there were not a whole bunch of avenues for us to escape.
Then I saw the ladder attached to the side of the truck. I started to do the damned salvation-math. It had all sorts of awesome variables like, Gary’s speed, amount of zombies between us and the rungs, plus BT’s ability to be able to hold onto a moving ladder. Fun shit like that.
There was a layer of only four or five deep of zombies between Gary and us when I felt BT’s rifle graze the top of my head at top speed. If I had an inch more of height, or his massive arms had dipped just a fraction, he would have sent the top of my head into the cheap seats. I turned just in time to see a zombie in the midst of a heels-over-head situation; its face caved in. BT had struck it so hard that it literally left its feet. Well, that answered the ‘strong enough to hold the ladder’ factor.
“Holy shit. Thanks, man,” I told him.
It was one of the earlier zombies taking one last final shot in the pursuit of food. And it had almost worked. How BT had seen it I didn’t know. Maybe he had thought of something I’d done to him previously and was actually gunning for me but had gone high and I’d just been fortuitous. Highly coincidental, granted, but still possible. Gary was creating a clearing big enough for a truck to drive through (see how I did that?). Although he had zombies to both sides and the rear, we only needed to be concerned with the side he was planning on driving by us.
I pointed to the approaching ladder.
“I’ve got damn eyes,” BT told me.
“And an attitude apparently.”
“You say something?” he asked gruffly.
“Just get on the stupid ladder.”
Gary was fast approaching, and we’d done a decent job of clearing a path, although it was much like digging sand. Every time we took some out, more would fill in from the sides. I made a move towards BT, my hand extended, I was going to give him a little extra assistance up.
“You touch me and I’ll scream rape,” BT said.
“Well at least you’re feeling better.”
Gary was going about ten miles an hour, which sounds slow enough, but when you’re standing still and have to hop on, it’s fairly intimidating. BT flipped his rifle over his shoulder and reached out with his right hand. I turned and started running in the direction the plow was going. I couldn’t get on until BT had moved his bulk up far enough to give me room to join him.
“Mike!” BT yelled.
It was a tone I’d never heard from him before. I was about even with the plow blade when I turned. BT’s face had taken on an ashen quality. I was wondering if he was being hit again with the zombie cramp. It was then I noticed his right leg was off the ladder. A zombie had grabbed hold, which normally wouldn’t have been an issue for BT, but two other zombies had also played piggy back with the first one. He literally had three zombies dragging on him and more trying to get in position to add their own anchorage. BT had wrapped his arm around the ladder step so that his armpit was firmly lodged, but I could see the strain in his face as he tried to shake his leg free of the huge parasites.
“Speed up, Gary!” I shouted. He was looking in the side-view mirror at BT.
A billow of diesel exhaust blossomed out of the stack behind the cab. I ran a little further ahead while I had the chance, swung the rifle onto my back and grabbed my machete.
“Again with the damn machete,” I said as I turned back around. “Do not move!” I yelled to BT.
It would not have done any good if he started kicking out his leg and I slammed my blade into his thigh. The first zombie that had latched onto him was being dragged on his knees. It hurt me to even think about his kneecaps being sanded down on the ground like they were, especially with the other two hangers-on.
The timing had to be almost perfect. I took a step, already the cab was past, I was mid-stride with my next step and had pulled my arm back as far as I could. I was in full swing as my second stride hit the ground. The machete caught the zombie midway in the back. I heard its back break as the blade cut deep. The knife was ripped from my hand, but I’d gone deep enough, the added weight on the back of that zombie pulled him neatly in two. Okay, neatly might be a bit of a gross exaggeration. I guess as neatly as a human body can be severed. Every internal organ spilled to the ground, it looked like a dog food processing truck had rolled over.
BT was able to pull his leg up as the two other zombies rolled away when their ride ditched them. It was two more strides before I could stop my forward momentum. Now I was the one that had a problem. I was running headlong into the zombies and my ride was taking off the other way, plus I had lost the knife I hated using so much. I sure would have loved to use it now. I didn’t have the room or the time to turn back around, and getting to my rifle was out of the question.
It was time to play unpadded football. I tucked my head in and lowered my shoulder. I caught the first one in the chin with the point of my shoulder. I heard his teeth shatter right after he severed his tongue off. The flap of meat smacked wetly against my forearm.
I somewhat had the element of surprise as they weren’t expecting me to be where I was, but I sure wouldn’t have minded a big blocker to lead the way. They take all the big hits, and I take all the glory getting the touchdown. It was a working formula in high school. Why not now?
I was through my second or third row of zombies, each hit beginning to take just a little more of my forward thrust away. I could hear the back-up warning coming from the truck. Gary had thrown the rig in reverse and was thankfully coming back. I was beginning to see the light at the end of the zunnel (zombie tunnel) when Gary crashed the truck into a street pole. The truck didn’t give so much of a shit as the pole toppled noisily to the ground. I hazarded a glance behind me as I finally broke free from the zombies. The truck was weaving all over the roadway, I think it would have been better if he had just ghost-driven the thing. No one at the helm would have been better than his maneuvers. I started timing when I should dodge to the side, getting eaten by a zombie all of a sudden seemed like the better alternative than being run over.
BT was off the ladder. For a moment, I panicked that maybe he’d fallen off, but he was waving at me from a hole cut into the side of the dump.
“Glad to see you’re alright. Now get me the fuck out of here!” I yelled.
Rifles pointed out of two other slots and bullets began to take down zombies that had turned and were beginning their pursuit of me. Gary was pulling even with me, which was a good thing, because a bend in the road was coming up and I was certain he’d never be able to navigate it. I jumped, grabbing the ladder in flight, my head striking the side of the truck as Gary had given the wheel a quick twist. He’d rung my bell. I had to hold onto where I was for a moment until my brain stopped sliding around inside my skull. The wheels started squealing and jittering along the pavement as Gary hit the brakes. I swung against the side of the truck. What the zombies had started Gary was going to try and finish. I swung back the other way as we were once again going forward. BT reached his arm out of the firing hole and grabbed my shoulder. Unlike him, I was thankful for the help. I’d been a human piñata for the last few seconds and my body hurt.
Gary drove another half mile with me like that until he once again stopped short. If not for BT holding me in place I would have gone through the same cycle.
“Nice driving,” I said to Gary. I added ‘asshole’ at the end, but quietly. He had saved me after all, even if he wanted to crack me open and see if I housed any internal goodies.
“You’re welcome,” he said, beaming.
We didn’t have much time; I could already see the zombies coming. I climbed up the rest of the ladder and onto the top, which was made of tarp-covered plywood. There was a small hatch up there, which I climbed through and into the dump truck equivalent of an RV.
A dark red industrial carpet was glued to the bottom of the bed; two rows of bench seats were bolted or welded there as well. The entire area was framed out with two-by-fours, which held up the ‘roof’, that was covered with a tarp in case of inclement weather. Gun wells had been cut out of the metal body on the two sides and the rear. He’d even gone so far as to weld on small channels so that the murder holes could be covered up by sliding a thick piece of metal back into place. In the front, he’d cut out an actual window, put his channels back in and fitted it with Plexiglas. This way, the folks in the back could see up front and, if need be, we could move back and forth from the cab of the truck to the dump part. Now, if this thing had a wet bar, we’d be all set. My earlier irkdom to my brother was completely forgotten. He’d created something pretty unique and fucking awesome.
“Good job, man!” I said, smacking the glass.
I could see his grinning face in the rearview mirror.
“Thanks, guys,” I told my boys and BT.
“We’re even now,” BT said. “For today.”
“Fair enough. How you doing?” I asked. “Come on, man, sit down.”
“Better now.”
He looked like shit. Finding Doc was of paramount importance, but there were still a bunch of huge problems with that. Odds he was alive and well were slim, and even if he was, would he have a ‘cure’? Would he succeed where others failed? He had to. There was no other answer. I would not watch BT die and after that, Justin’s steady decline. That was NOT an acceptable outcome. This mission was as much about them as it was about me. I know I’m flawed, I was doing this in part because I didn’t want to be put through the suffering. Is there such a thing as reverse altruism? Would God make the distinction that I was doing good for others for my own good? Same fucking thing, right?
Stop looking at me like that. You think Mother Teresa was a completely selfless person? I don’t think so. Now I’m not saying she wasn’t worthy of Sainthood, but don’t you think she took great pleasure in helping others? Helping others made her feel good, absolutely nothing wrong with that. In a nutshell, that’s exactly what I was doing. Getting Justin and BT cured would make me feel great--two big birds one huge stone. Bullet-proof argument once I needed to present it to the Big Man.
We had been driving for a while. BT was strapped in to his seat, sleeping contentedly. I smiled when I noticed Henry’s head was parked in the big man’s lap a decent sized puddle of drool leaking from the dog’s muzzle. I was pacing a bit, it was slightly claustrophobic in the back, and the roof was maybe an inch from the top of my head. I was going to see if anyone wanted to come back here so I could go up to the front. I pulled the Plexiglas back and knocked on the back window of the cab. Tommy looked back at me, his smile laced in the red of what looked like strawberry. He shrugged.
“Wanf fwon?” he asked, holding up the familiar foil packet.
“Yeah actually,” I told him when he slid the glass back. I was thankful when he handed me the entire packet. My hands were encrusted in filth so much so that I thought the crap might be able to find its way through the protective packaging.
“You want up here?” Tracy asked as I was enjoying my pastry treat.
“I’m busy,” I told her, sticking my hand up.
“I’d kick your ass, Talbot, if I wasn’t so tired,” Tracy told me. “Gary can you pull over? I would like to get in the back.”
Gary looked at her quickly and then at the window I was at.
“Oh I don’t think so,” she told him. “I’m not crawling through two windows on a moving truck no matter how much fun you think it would be.”
“It actually does look like fun,” I said.
I stuck my head out of my side and was looking down at the pavement blazing by. I thought about maybe Gary hitting a bump and me losing my footing and then I’d find myself stuck upside down in the hydraulic cabling as my head started to wear away on the ground.
“Yeah, maybe you should just stop,” I told him, getting a little sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
Gary almost tossed me out the damn window he laid on the brakes so hard. “What is your problem with the pedals, man?” I asked him once I realized my heart wasn’t going to burst.
I went back to where the hatch was, stepped up on the small ladder welded to the side and then down the other side. Gary had gotten out and was stretching.
Tracy came around and gave me a hug. “How you doing, hon?” She looked up at me.
“I’ve been better. At least she’s at rest now. I can at least tell Ron that much.” She got up on her toes and kissed me. “Thank you for that,” I told her.
“Maybe we’ll have to find a stack of books soon.”
“Works for me.”
I’d never before equated literary tomes with sex, but I was open-minded. The constant danger we were in had some inherent benefits, one being that it made you want to be more in contact with those you loved. There is comfort in intimacy.
“Next stop is Barnes and Noble,” I told her before I helped her on the ladder, not that she needed it, but it gave me the chance to cop a feel or two.
I’d never once considered Tracy anything other than beautiful, but the hardness of the apocalypse had sculpted her into something almost otherworldly. Any chance I had to grab onto that, I was going to take it.
“Want me to drive a bit?” I asked Gary once my favorable view was gone.
“It’s not as easy as it looks,” he told me.
“I know, man, I just know you pulled some long hours and worked your ass off to get this done. Great job by the way.”
“Thank you…and you’re right, I could use a little shut eye.”
Gary went up the ladder as well. I didn’t help him, if he fell off and bruised himself up a bit, I would consider it a fair measure of payback. Gary had stopped at the interchange exit for 495, which was basically a route that skirted Boston and went down through Connecticut and picked back up with its parent route. So I could stay on 95 Southbound or take 495. It wasn’t like Boston was going to be a hotbed of traffic, so that wasn’t really a factor. And in terms of distance, I think it was about the same mileage. Route 95 stayed closer to the coast, so one way bowed to the east, the other the west.
“Any reason to take one over the other?” I asked Tommy. He shrugged. “I liked it a whole lot better when Ryan would at least give you some vague clues.”
I hopped up into the cab. I was driving somewhere in the neighborhood of five miles an hour, looking back and forth at the route signs. I could not figure out why this was such a big deal, they led to exactly the same place. I cut the wheel at the very last moment, taking 495. My final reason was that if I was that close to Boston on 95 and saw a zombified Dustin Pedroia it would make this day just that much worse.
I’d been on 495 for fifteen minutes or so and nothing untold was happening. There was a build-up of more abandoned cars as we got closer to the outskirts of Boston, but nothing that we wouldn’t be able to navigate through quite yet. And unless we started seeing tanks, I didn’t think there were too many things this truck couldn’t get through anyway. For about the fortieth time, I asked myself why no one had thought of this sooner, least of all me.
“You see that?” Tommy asked.
But unless he was talking about the small pile of crumbs he was creating in his lap, I didn’t know how he could see anything else. He had not looked up from his parade of junk food the whole time I’d been in there. I wasn’t complaining; he’d given me a Mallo Cup and a Devil Dog. From where? I didn’t care. Sometimes it’s way better to allow the mysteries of the universe to remain just that. What good has it been for science to remove all the mystery in life? Isn’t it cooler to think that the Northern Lights are the gateway to the Spirit world and that the crackling sound it sometimes makes is that of the spirits talking? Or would you rather ‘know’ that its charged particles from the sun reacting with the earth’s magnetic field?
“See what?” I asked, realizing that Tommy had even spoken.
“The smoke.” He pointed through the windshield.
I could see a small funnel of it. It didn’t look like much more than a small campfire throwing it off. Campfire meant people, though. I took a small glance through the back windshield. It seemed my driving had been relaxing enough for all of them to get a little much needed sleep. We weren’t yet under attack; I was going to see how this rode out before I awoke them.
“Buckle your seatbelt in preparation for a bumpy ride,” I told Tommy.
“Had it on since Gary started driving,” he told me.
“Okay so it wasn’t just me.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “I thought he was trying to kill a snake on the floorboard every time he hit the brakes.”
It was the further I drove that I realized this wasn’t just a marshmallow roasting fire. Something was going on. Now I’d wished I’d taken 95. I was slowing down looking for the best place to turn my truck around when I saw it.
“Oh shit,” I said as I saw the bus heading our way. “He’s gotta be doing seventy.”
That was fairly miraculous considering all the vehicles on the roadway. Smoke was billowing out of the front, luckily, the driver was going so fast that the smoke was traveling down the sides and to the back.
“Where’s he in such a rush to get to?”
“I think it’s what he is in a rush to get away from,” Tommy said.
A bevy of bikers came into view. I did not want to get involved. First off, because I didn’t want to expose anyone to the danger; and secondly, how did I know who the good guys were. Just because bikers were chasing a bus didn’t necessarily make them the evil ones, now if it was a school bus that might change the equation. Sure…it cast them in a worse light, but by no means was it a definitive answer. No matter what I decided, I couldn’t stay where I was; the path through the cars was too narrow for us and a bus. The ear-irritating sound of metal squealing on metal pretty much woke everyone up as I pushed against some cars in an effort to make room.
The herking and jerking of Gary’s braking had nothing over what I was doing. Professional rodeo riders would have been complaining. I had created a sort of dugout through the cars and at the same time made myself vulnerable. There was always the chance the bus would race on by and the bikers would stop to check us out.
“Shit,” I said just as I decided this was a horrible plan.
The bus was within a quarter mile or so when I threw the truck in reverse. I was pinging the back of the truck off of more than a few cars.
“See? I told you it wasn’t easy!” Gary shouted through the glass.
“What’s going on?” BT asked, sticking his head through. It was good to see him looking better.
“Company.” Tommy pointed to the rapidly approaching bus and motorcycles.
“Shit,” BT said.
“Couldn’t agree more,” I told him.
“Any idea who’s who?” he asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I told him, my head jerking as we ripped off the front fender of a Toyota.
“That bus is coming up fast!” BT’s eyes were growing big.
“You been talking to Captain Obvious lately?” I asked him, trying my best to avoid the parked cars that seemed to be jumping into my path of their own volition.
The bus was less than a football field away, within seconds he would be abreast and then past. Then the bikers, then probably a couple of thousand zombies behind them, a yeti, and a pack of werewolves…why not?
I had run out of time. I could hear the bus honking its horn. Where the hell did he think I could go? His front end was inches from my plow blade, billowing smoke was obscuring the driver. It was another quarter mile or so before the cars cleared up enough that the bus could attempt to pull past me, which he did. I was still driving backwards somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty miles an hour. I was too scared to actually look down and check though, figuring I’d lose control if I did so. My full attention was riveted to the small four-by-eight inches of reflective glass to my side.
I heard, “Ponch!!!” It was yelled out from the bus as it pulled alongside.
I spared a quick glance. “John?” I asked, not believing what I was seeing.
“Who?” he shouted back.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to figure out the biker situation.
“My wife rented a party bus! We’re going to a concert…she got a ticket for you, too!”
“Hey, Mike!” Stephanie yelled out. She was on the other side of her husband holding onto a handrail for all her life was worth. I could see the white of her bones shining through she was clutching so hard.
“Good or bad?” I asked, hoping she would catch the meaning of my abbreviated question.
“Bad.” In reality, I didn’t even need her verbal response, it was in her panicked
expression.
“BT.”
“On it,” he said, getting the boys at their firing stations.
I started to slow down and so did Trip.
“It’s really good to see you, man. Stephanie wanted to know if you still had her sneakers,” Trip rambled.
Stephanie was shaking her head back and forth.
“Don’t slow up, man, you’ll be late for the show. I’ll be right behind you!” I told him. There was no traditional rationalizing with Trip, you just had to speak the correct language.
“Oh…right, right. I’ll get the sneakers from you there!” He was all smiles.
I gave him the thumbs-up.
“You hitching, man? I can give you a ride, we’ve got plenty of room,” Trip said.
“GO! I’ll see you there!” I yelled over to him.
Steph must have said something, because he gave me the thumbs-up and pulled past. The bikers were almost on me by the time I had stopped the truck and got it back into drive.
“Well, fuckers, it’s time to learn a thing or two about size differential. I feel like BT around us regular folk,” I said to Tommy.
I started to see the wisps of smoke as many of the bikers started shooting at us.
“Well, I guess that answers that question,” I said as I began to build up some steam.
I was going somewhere around twenty miles an hour when I cut the wheel, catching a biker head on. The truck bucked, and even with my seat belt on I left my seat, but that was nothing compared to the biker. I launched him. I’d sheered the bike nearly in half on contact. The rider was sent spiraling into the air to land in a death pirouette.
“Should have worn a helmet.”
“I don’t think it would have helped,” Tommy replied.
I drilled two more bikers—both of these head on—before the others tried to get around me. Most started drifting over to the shoulder so they could do just that. I could hear bullets smacking into the body, a few even broke through the windshield.
“Shit! I just got shot,” I said, looking at the blood running down my shoulder. “Don’t let any of those fuckers past!”
The truck quickly became a rolling gun blind. Bikers who were slowly picking a path through the snarl of traffic became relatively easy targets. We dropped at least five or six of them before they decided whatever prize they were seeking from Trip and his wife just wasn’t worth it. I saw a smallish guy, raise his hand up in the air and whirl it around in the traditional ‘rally here’ gesture. He turned and gunned his bike, leaving a trail of rubber as he did so, the rest quickly followed suit.
I followed for a mile or so just to make sure it wasn’t a ruse on their part and maybe they were doubling back. It wasn’t long before I lost sight of the much faster bikes, and still I thought about pursuing them. I immensely disliked leaving an enemy out there.
“We going back?” Tommy asked.
Of that I wasn’t so sure. What Trip was doing here was beyond my comprehension. There was a pretty good chance he had already forgot about our encounter and would just keep going to whatever destination he had originally set out for. His wife was with him, though. I’m sure at some point she’d get him to pull over. Or, more likely, the bus would just quit. The smoke pouring from the thing indicated it had suffered a fatal wound.
“Douche bags always regroup, it’s like a genetic thing,” I said to Tommy.
“We can’t catch them.”
“You’re right,” I said, close-lipped. I did a beautiful three-point turn in the center of the highway, only smashing four or five cars as I did so.
“What the hell was all that about?” BT asked as we started heading North on 495.
“You’re about to find out.”
It was about five miles by the time I finally saw the bus. It was parked on the side of the road; smoke was still coming out of it as if it were on its last legs. Trip had his back to me, and as I drew closer, I noticed he was pissing on the tire.
“Nothing to see here!” he said as I pulled up alongside. He was waving his hand for me to pass.
“You know you can get a ticket for public urination right?” I told him.
“See, that’s just the man trying to regulate everything. Pissing is one of the most basic human functions, and you and your oppressors are going to tell me where and when I can do it!” Trip said. I could tell he was getting pissed off (pun intended). He was halfway turned around to look at me, dick still in hand.
“Come on, man,” I told him, shielding my eyes. “Some things can’t be unseen.”
“She’s a thing of beauty,” he said happily.
I hoped he was talking about the plow.
“Ponch!” he yelled excitedly. “When’d you get here?”
“Where’s your wife?” I asked him.
“Where?” he asked, stuffing himself back in his pants. “She gets mad when I piss outside.”
“So you hate when the man tells you where and when to piss, but you’re afraid of your wife telling you the same thing?” I asked.
“I don’t live with ‘the man.’” He looked around.
“Who’s Chong?” BT asked, coming down off the truck.
“Ponch, you in the circus now?” Trip asked, looking up at BT.
“BT, this is Trip. Trip, this is BT.” I stepped aside. They were going to need to feel each other out in the ways that best suited them, and I personally wanted nothing to do with it. Trip caused me great mental headaches and BT could cause me great physical ones.
“You’re funny, little man. How about I spin your head off?” BT asked as he moved a couple of paces closer to Trip.
“Threats aren’t really going to work,” I said aloud. BT shushed me.
“Like a top? That would be fantastic, because then I’d be able to see my butt. I’ve always wanted to. Stephanie says I have a nice one, but I really have to take her word for it,” Trip said, trying his best to look over his shoulder and down his backside.
“How about I just plant you in the ground instead?” BT asked.
“I’ve always wanted to know what it was like to be a cannabis plant, so still and serene, swaying in the breeze and drinking rainwater. Just let me get a few things.” Trip went back into the bus.
“What’s wrong with him?” BT asked me as Trip walked away.
“Oh… it gets worse,” I answered.
“This is the guy that saved your ass?” BT asked, pointing up to the bus.
“At least three times.”
By now, everyone had come out of the truck and gathered around.
“Whoa,” Trip said as he stepped out of the bus. “Where’d everybody come from? Were you guys in the bus?”
We all heard some rustling in the woods and then Trip’s wife Stephanie emerged. “I’m so sorry. I had some…um…pressing needs to attend to.”
“She had to pee,” Trip stage whispered.
“Trip!” she said, flustered.
“What?” he asked innocently.
“Stephanie, it’s nice to see you again.” I stepped forward. “Did the hotel fall?” I asked. Other than that, I could think of no reason why they would be this far east, certainly not a foraging expedition.
“I…umm had a disagreement with the person in charge,” she said hesitantly as she looked sidelong at her husband.
I got the implication. Someone where they were staying didn’t like Trip and had forced them out. “So what are you guys doing here?”
“Looking for you,” she told me.
“Are you kidding? I told Trip in passing where I lived while we were riding in his crazy little helicopter. I never figured he’d remember. I was just trying to say something so I wouldn’t bite my tongue off in fear.” Maybe I slipped him my address, I couldn’t remember, it was a pretty trying time.
“I have a helicopter?” Trip asked.
“Come on, man. I’m here and I’m not believing this,” BT said. “How is this possible?”
“Divine intervention?” I said as an explanation. Stephanie nodded, having had that same thought not too long ago.
“Is it that implausible? Look at all the variables that were in place for us to meet on that section of 495. What if Gary had taken an hour longer or finished an hour sooner? What about my decision to even take 495? That’s three just within the last two hours. What about everything else? Not to mention on Trip and Stephanie’s side. I mean, one more rolled bone from Trip and we would have missed them.”
“Coincidence,” BT said.
“I’m not so sure,” Tommy said.
“Listen, we all know I’m no theologian,” I said.
Tracy snorted. “Sorry, involuntary reaction.” She was still trying to stifle a laugh.
“You done?” I asked.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe God is helping just a bit. What if this whole cluster-fuck of an apocalypse wasn’t his doing? Let me finish,” I said when I saw BT about to protest how an omnipotent being missed something so big. “Listen, we all know my half-assed thoughts on God and the devil. I personally think they’re great friends, but what if there’s another. Something that is the epitome of evil.”
“That’s not the devil?” Travis asked.
“Not in your dad’s world,” BT answered.
“The devil is God’s justice, plain and simple. Don’t cross God, never meet the devil. Sounds like a plan to me. But this,” I said, sweeping my arms, “this I don’t think was either of their doings. Something else is in the mix.”
“What is it?” Tracy asked, her earlier smile gone.
“Man,” Trip said.
At first I thought he was referencing back to ‘the man’ but this made sense. “You might be on to something.”
“Mike, come on. Where are you going with this?” BT asked.
“Hell if I know, but it could be man. God is reward for a life lived well and the devil is punishment for being an asshole, the whole karma thing.”
“Tell Beelzebub hi for me,” BT said.
“Nice,” I told him. “Okay, let’s go with the free will thing. We are all able to do as we want without any outside influence.”
“So the devil-made-me-do-it defense can’t be used anymore?” Trip asked.
“In Mike’s world, yes,” Tracy told him.
“I’m moving off planet then,” Trip said.
“I think he’s already there,” Travis said to Justin.
“Good one,” Justin told his brother.
“What if we went too far? What if God wants to try and set things right?” I asked.
“Why doesn’t he just come down here and do it then?” BT asked. “Or send us laser guns that don’t need reloading or not let our loved ones die!” Now he was shouting.
“I don’t think he can,” I said, hoping that wasn’t blasphemy.
“An all-powerful being that can’t…that doesn’t sound right,” Tracy said.
I noticed Tommy nodding, but I didn’t know if it was in agreement with me or Tracy.
“I think maybe he set it up that way.” I was flying by the seat of my pants now, not an unusual position for me to be in.
“His game, his rules,” Gary chimed in.
“Oh, not you too?” BT said. “When did Talbot become synonymous with crazy?”
“It’s been a long time,” Tommy said, reflecting back on some of the Talbots he’d encountered along the way, more than one making him smile.
“I think Gary’s on to something,” I said. “Maybe he knew that once he created this world that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tinkering with it from time to time, so he created a way to keep himself out.”
“How, Mike?” BT asked. “How could anything stop him?”
“Same way you could build a wall that you couldn’t get over,” I told him. I don’t know if I was swaying him yet, but it was giving him pause to consider. “I’m just saying that there seems to be a LOT of times that his presence seems to shine through more so than others. Like there are holes in his wall or net.”
“Or a back door where he can come in quickly and leave,” Gary said.
“Sure. Listen maybe I’m completely wrong, but come on, how the hell did we find Paul? Or how did Trip find us? And I’m going to use that same logic in the hopes that he finds a way to guide us to Doc. That’s the hope I’m holding on to, BT. My son’s and your life hang in the balance. I can’t think of a better person to lay my faith on.”
“Can’t argue with that.” BT turned slightly away. “Fucking pollen,” he said, going towards the truck.
“Stephanie, I can take you two to get another car and I’ll give you directions to get to my brother’s house. He’ll take you in no questions asked. Okay, he might have a few questions, but you’ll be welcome there,” I told her.
“I’m a little done with being alone on the open road,” she said.
“I can’t say I blame you. You’re welcome to come with us, we have the room.” She looked dubiously over at the plow. “Gary did some great things in the back. I’m not sure how long we’re going to be traveling, and I have no idea what we’re in for, and I’m pretty sure your bikers will come back once they pull their tails out from between their legs. It’s that damn free will again, makes some people do the stupidest shit.”
“I’d still rather we stay with you,” Stephanie said with relief.
“Man, I hate to bring this up,” Trip said, “but do you have Stephanie’s sneakers?”