by Tufo, Mark
“Starting to reach, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. Am I?”
“We’ll do more testing when they get here. I can’t promise, Talbot, because of the pressures this camp is under, but I will do my best to make sure it is as reasonably safe as it can be. That enough?”
I was abundantly aware that Bennington had changed his tactics to dealing with me. Maybe he knew that merely ordering me to do it wouldn’t be enough, that I might say fuck it, just to spite myself. I was still sitting on the fence with the whole thing, but in the end, none of it mattered. If they’d hacked the computers, they already had all the information they would need. It seemed the question was much more difficult.
“Why are we here, sir?” I asked.
He was silent; he’d seen that I had figured the puzzle out.
“You knew about Dewey; you wanted to see him in action. Wow…that’s it. You going to deny it?”
“Would you believe me if I did?”
“I lost one of my men for a mission that didn’t need to be performed?”
“We lose people all the time, and yes, it was imperative that you went. We needed to gauge the strength of the survivors. We did not, however, believe them to be so advanced. So, yes. We knew there were side-effects, just not to what degree.”
“You fucker!” I raged. “You think you could have maybe given me a heads up before you dropped us into this shithole? Would that have been too much?”
“We didn’t strand your team deliberately, Talbot. The mission shouldn’t have been so…complicated.”
“I’ll be back soon, colonel. We’ll continue this discussion, and I’m going to…” And that’s when I was lifted clean off my feet.
“Hello, sir,” BT grunted as he hefted me away. He made a sawing motion across his throat to have Winters cut the feed. “I’d ask you if you lost your mind but that’s an established point.” BT set me down roughly.
“You heard him, didn’t you? He popped us in here knowing full-well what we were in for!” I was pacing, too angry to sit still.
“Maybe not full-well.”
“Don’t temper my anger, BT.”
“Definitely not trying to do that. Just so you know, he’s doing what commanders have been doing since people began fighting people. He was probing the enemy to learn their strength and weaknesses.”
“You seem pretty alright with this, considering we’re the low men on the totem pole here. Fuck–I’m not even sure we rate being on it! We’re more like the part that is buried in the shitty dirt that supports the rest of the pole. I mean, it’s something you come to grips with, being expendable, I mean, but you figure that your leader, for the most part, has your best interests at heart, that he would rather see you succeed than fail. That’s not the case here! Yeah, we were a tool for Bennington, but he didn’t care if we came back broken or…at all, really. Sort of like a cruel benevolence.”
“What’s that even mean?”
“He comes across as giving a shit when, in reality, he is just giving you shit.”
“Mike, think this through. He had to believe we were going to make it, right? Just because he had all the data doesn’t mean his people at Etna would be able to work through the notes and processes these guys have done. It would have taken them months, years, even, to get to the same place as these people here. He knows we don’t have that kind of time. So yeah, maybe he had an inkling all wasn’t right here. So what’s he do? He sends the unit with the best chance of success, that can adapt and deal with whatever they find, and still get the job done.”
“Fuck you, BT. Stop reasoning for him and stroking my ego at the same time. That’s underhanded, even for you.”
“Is it working?”
“A little bit…probably a whole lot better if we hadn’t lost Halsey.”
“Yeah, I’m going to miss the kid too. I know you know this, Mike, but you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that he’s not going to be the last one we lose.”
“I hate this shit, BT. We should be having barbecues in your backyard, eating great food, drinking beer…and I’d be telling you about all the Yeti sightings in the general area.”
“Yetis? Why yetis? Can’t we discuss Australian rules football?”
“Had a weird dream once about them; you were in it. There was a Speedo involved.”
“Who had the Speedo on?”
“Not me.”
“Why was I playing Australian rules football in a Speedo?”
“Not that crazy thing you call a sport…the dream was about Yetis. It’s something I’ll never be able to forget. And back to the other thing, the mere fact that they have to distinguish their football by throwing the word ‘rules’ in there just means it is going to be some seriously skewed version of the way football should be played. They probably have to factor in that they need to avoid deadly animals on the playing surface; that whole country terrifies me. I bet even the puppies there are highly venomous.”
“Can we get out of here now? And promise me one thing, Talbot.” He stopped my forward progress. “I don’t want to hear about the Speedo incident again.”
“Was it real?” Not sure why I asked.
“What color was it?”
“Gold. Bright gold like the color of shorts a boxer might wear into the ring or something more up your alley Rocky from Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
“Thanks for the visual. It’s possible we had the same dream; it doesn’t make much sense though. I was with Linda, and we didn’t know each other then. But in the dream, we’d known each other for years. Fuck it…I don’t know, and mostly I don’t want to.”
We were back in the underground garage. Doc Jeremy and his group had piled into one of the two vans.
“Out.” The look he gave me was pure panic. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I need you to split up the talent here. Two vans. If something happens to one of them, I need to make sure some of your people make it because before you deliver this weapon to the masses, you are going to make sure it’s a hundred percent effective or you’re going to sabotage it completely so it never sees the light of day. I don’t care which, but I need some of you alive to make that happen.”
After a few minutes, he had what he thought was a fair distribution of talent and knowledge. I did the same. I took Gary, Winters, Corporal Rose, PFCs Kirby, Grimm, and Springer. BT was in charge of the other van and only took three with him due to the reduced space from all the files. It was a small unit, but considering it was BT, Tommy, Corporal Stenzel and Private Harmon, I figured he’d be fine. We did one final check of the perimeter of the building before rolling up the steel garage door. Not a zombie in sight. I was more than expecting them to start pouring out of doors and around street corners the moment we got on the road; that it didn’t happen only began to make my paranoia meter peg out. Now I figured that Dewey knew we had the scientists, and that the best thing he could do would be to allow us to go so that more of his kind could be created. How far out of the realm of possibilities was I? Tough to say. That I’d even thought it lent the notion credence in my mind.
“Sir, getting a relayed message from Etna,” Winters started. It was good to know that comm was back up. “We’re on live sat; Etna says we should take the next left and lay low at an amusement park there for a few. We’ve got a horde of speeders about to pass over our path.”
“They on an intercept course?” I asked.
“Doesn’t appear that way, sir. A herd of deer is being chased.”
“Next left, Corporal.”
“It’s a one way, sir.”
“You’re kidding, right? We’ll be all right. I promise not to deduct any points off your driver’s license.”
“Good thing, Lieutenant, because I never got one. Failed my first test. Was planning on going back at some point and then this happened.”
It was sobering to hear that from her, heartbreaking, really. Not so much the license, but how many things she and future generations would never do.
Prom, Friday Night Lights, either playing football or rooting from the stands or even making out under the stands. As I’d gotten older, I thought that as a country, we were getting soft. We coddled our children, attempting to protect them from every possible harm out there. Talk about an exercise in futility. That was something that couldn’t possibly be done, and in the end, we were doing them more harm than good. By attempting to shield them from the cruel world, we left them ill-prepared to deal with it. I’m as guilty as the next person of this, but I would never have wanted things to turn out the way they had just to toughen up our youth. Yeah, I fantasized about a zombie apocalypse, but the reality of it…? Well, it just plain blows thick, chunky, chewed-up phlegm balls.
We pulled in to the Victorian Gardens Amusement Park. First thing I saw was the Ferris Wheel. Looked in pretty good shape; as long as the thing didn’t light up like a Christmas tree, I’d see if Winters could get it up and running. I convinced myself it would be a good way to survey the city. Then the thought of being trapped on the highly exposed ride changed my mind with a quickness.
“All right, let’s set up a perimeter, check out the buildings close by,” I said as I exited the vehicle. I headed over to the Ferris wheel and sat in the bottom-most car as we waited for the zombies to run on by. Gary stiffly walked over to join me.
“I’ve got road rash where no one should have road rash.” He was looking at the seat next to me but decided against it.
“Other than that, how are you doing?”
“It’s the only thing I can think of, so, I guess by default everything else is fine.”
“One way to look at it, I suppose.”
I tilted my head back and was looking up into the sky; the car rocked gently back and forth. It’s possible I even dozed off. It was a half hour later when Harmon called out to me. I awoke with a start, my rifle at the ready–a learned response I doubt was ever going to be forgotten.
“Sir–you’re going to want to see this.” She was coming closer, holding a notebook out to me.
I wiped my eyes and took the proffered object. “Winters, anything?”
“Got word the enemy’s got the deer surrounded–haven’t moved too much farther from where they were.
“Great. See if there’s a way around. What is this?”
“I think it’s a…sort of like a last will and testament to a couple, I found it over there, it was stuck to a zombie.” She pointed to a food stand.
“We talking bars of gold or something?” Not that gold meant all that much, but it was still shiny and fun to look at.
“You might think it’s even better, sir.”
My interest was piqued. I started reading. What follows is an account of Laura and Marcus’s final moments.
Chapter 7
Laura’s Story
My name is Laura Malvern and this is the story of those first horrible days of when the zombies attacked. Why am I writing this? I honestly don’t know. It seems like these last few precious hours I have left to me should be spent praying or, at least, recounting the better times in my life, not these end times that have seen nothing but death and blackness. It’s just so much. I want those that come after me to know what we’ve gone through and I hope there’s something better for them. My husband Marcus and I had been married for twelve years–as of three days ago. That was why we came out to Victorian Gardens. Sounded like a corny idea for an anniversary destination, but neither of us wanted to be too far from our home on Long Island. We were, are, I guess–oh please don’t be were because that would mean they were gone, and I don’t think I can handle that. Sorry, let me back up. At the beginning of our marriage, we rescued two English Bulldogs who, at the time, we mistakenly believed were spayed and neutered siblings. It seemed that neither of those things were true.
When that first litter arrived, we had a small apartment in Brooklyn, and with the addition of five new housemates, it quickly got even smaller. This was when we discovered our love for those animals; we did all we could to ensure they found the best homes possible. In the process, we made enough money to put a down payment on a property on Long Island. We learned everything we could about breeding dogs with compassion, to make sure that health and temperament were at the forefront. We attended classes, seminars, talked to AKC people, whatever it took. Finally, I quit my job and dove into the business of making families whole with the addition of a cherished fur-baby. It has been a wondrously fulfilling and satisfying career, but it’s come with its fair share of heartache. You see, I wasn’t the best person for this job; I became entirely too attached to every puppy that came into our home.
I vetted every person that showed an interest; I sat down personally with them and interviewed every applicant myself. More than once I’d had to turn a person away because I had a suspicious feeling about them or because they didn’t answer a question correctly. You have no idea how mad a person can get when you tell them they can’t have something, especially when they’ve traveled across three states to get it. It didn’t matter. The money was always going to be secondary to ensuring that each of my puppies found the best home that they could. As our anniversary rolled around, Marcus wanted to get me out of the house. I didn’t often leave when we had a fresh litter, but the two pups we had remaining were twelve weeks old, and my niece, Danielle, said she would watch over them–something she absolutely loved to do. Now I carry the pain of having to worry about what has happened to all of them.
I love Marcus more than any other person I have ever known, but of all the people you’d say were ready for some apocalyptic event, you could not travel any farther down the spectrum of unprepared than him. Oh, I guess that’s not fair. Maybe some infirm people in the hospital might be worse off, but other than that…yeah. Like, we had this horrible ice storm a few winters back, trees cracked and broke taking down power lines all over our community. I thought Marcus was going to lose his mind–not because we were without power and the cold was beginning to seep into the house–but rather because all of the Dunkin’ Donuts were closed! He drove around half the state for the better part of eight hours looking for a coffee shop, bless his heart. The extent of my husband’s talent for surviving the apocalypse was to look for open restaurants! And now he’s gone. In the end, he died for me, and what better way of expressing one’s love is there than that?
I wish we had stayed home, but I blame the show Carnival Eats for forcing our hand. I mean, who doesn’t want to try a deep fat fried cinnamon roll? Or even better yet, a tempura-covered cheeseburger? The danger of watching food shows in the middle of the night typically only involves gaining a few unnecessary pounds, it doesn’t usually mean the untimely death of your spouse. But at least I will be close on his heels. Hadn’t made it a quarter of the way down the midway on our quest for the mythical Fireball Deluxe Chili Weiner when I was stopped in my tracks by a fried red velvet funnel cake, replete with cream cheese frosting. Who could look away from that? I told Marcus our treadmill was going to get an extra work-out when we got home. He asked what I was going to do with all the clean laundry already hanging on it!
“Let me at least pretend,” I told him.
“We gonna split that?” His mouth was watering as he looked upon the frosted slice of heaven the vendor was handing over.
“I’m sure they have more,” I told him greedily. I shouldered him out of the way as he dipped a finger into the gooey goodness.
“Ooh, that’s good.” He licked his finger. “Another, please!” he ordered up at the truck.
“You still planning on riding some things?” I asked him.
“Of course.” His muffled answer came around a mouthful of cake.
“You know what fried foods do to your stomach–especially if you’re going to go and tilt-a-whirl it all around.”
“I’ll be fine.” He pulled out a bottle of antacid.
“Look at you, thinking ahead!”
“Sick of looking inside trash barrels while I pay for my stupidity.”
“T
here’s hope for you yet,” I told him.
“Oh, oh,” he said as he threw his used plate away.
“What?! You haven’t even ridden anything yet.”
He was pointing to a small, red-awninged food booth. I read the sign. “Crazy Larry’s World-Famous Tempura Cheeseburgers.” I was full from the funnel cake, but what is a carnival for if not over-indulgence in every sense of the word? Come on, they fry Twinkies, for Heaven’s sake! I’m embarrassed to say it, but I moaned more during the eating of that cheeseburger than…forget it. Even at the end, I will hold on to my modesty.
After the exquisite experience of food porn we had just consumed, we stood, thinking that maybe getting off the midway would be the right thing to do. The fried Snickers kept calling my name, but through the layer of grease I was coating it with, my stomach thought it might be for the best if we took a break. And I knew Marcus was in even rougher shape as he munched down on three antacids quicker than he had eaten his French fries. I was pretty surprised when, ten minutes later, we found ourselves in line for the Octopus. Not sure if you’re familiar with this one? It has eight arms, and at the end of each arm is a car that seats up to three people. The ride spins in a circle while each arm rises and falls, and at the same time, your car itself spins. It would be an exhilarating few minutes, but afterwards, I was thinking our visit would likely be cut short as Marcus raced for the bathrooms. That would still give me plenty of time to grab some of the food we hadn’t had a chance to try yet and bring it home. It’s never as good as when it’s hot and fresh, but we’d make do. And screw the laundry covered treadmill! Anyway, the belt was probably frozen from disuse.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked as we inched closer. He was holding his stomach and quietly belching off to the side.
“Oh yeah, I’m good. Can’t come to the carnival and not ride something.”
We could, I thought, but I kept it to myself. The carnie had no sooner shut the small door to our car when we heard screams from further down the boardwalk. At the time, I thought nothing of it. I figured it was from some overly frightened riders on the slingshot. I don’t care how much greased food Marcus got for me, he was never going to butter me up enough to ride that thing! Heard it felt like being launched into space without a seatbelt or a viable means to ensure a safe landing. No thank you.
