Tattered Remnants

by Mark Tufo

“That’s a first.”

  In addition to the diaper bag, I also filled up one with formula. It was going to be difficult aiming correctly, loaded down the way I was, but they were necessary supplies. The day had taken a turn I could have never expected, and we weren’t done. The third zombie had a change of heart in regard to escaping, or maybe she was looking for a better place from which to launch an attack, or maybe she was just fucking horrible at hide and seek. She was standing in the hallway like she just plain forgot what she was doing. I mean, how many times have we all done that? Go into a room maybe looking for our keys or something as inane and then get in the room and completely space it out. Sure, she forgot she wanted to eat somebody, but pretty much the same thing. She quickly remembered when she spotted me; I shot a hole clean through her. I immediately went and placed my hand on her belly. We already had one miracle for the day. Would it be asking too much for another? The flesh was still and, more importantly, cold. I shook my head to Justin.

  The baby was bundled up in his arms as he approached. I stood and went over to the windows just to see if anything had heard the shots and was even now coming to investigate. It was a yes and no sort of answer on that. There was indeed a group of six zombies in the parking lot, they had been running at full tilt but all stopped at the same time and began to look around. My guess was that they’d been hunting someone, and the person had had the good fortune to get away, at least for the moment. One of the six zombies stepped out of the small, loosely formed circle. He stood straight up and rigid as if at the position of attention for a military formation.

  “What the…?” Never got to the expletive, as a ding like a tiny bell had been rung inside my head; this was immediately followed by a quick flash of a zombie. Fear knocked through me, and then whatever had invaded my personal space was gone. A couple of things happened at the same time. The first, the one I thought delivered the pinging turned and looked up to the window I was perfectly silhouetted in; the second, from across the parking lot, a man stood up from his hiding spot behind a small van. The other zombies were in quick pursuit when he took off running.

  Justin had a dazed look on his face, and the baby was in the midst of a full-throated cry. It was safe to assume they’d all just experienced what I had.

  “We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.” I grabbed Justin’s arm. He didn’t need much goading. We’d found a much cleaner stairwell down, and we were in the truck in under two minutes. Even with the windows up, I could hear the man scream as the zombies tore into him. Justin got the baby to calm down just as we were pulling up to Ron’s. Neither of us had spoken at all about what we’d felt. I was too busy trying to figure out what it meant and how it affected us. The zombies, thankfully and unexpectedly, yielded us the roadway.

  Tracy was the first to approach as we came in. She must have been in dire need of some changing material for Wesley, or she was going to give me hell for separating from BT. Whatever she was going to say changed, suddenly, when she saw me carrying two heavy bags and Justin one small parcel.

  “That’s just like you, Mike,” she said. “I send you for diapers, you bring home a baby.” She gave me a quick kiss, kissed Justin on the forehead, and escorted both of them into the house. Stephanie grabbed the bags, easily hefting them. Sometimes I forgot just how stout of a woman she was.

  “You okay, man?” BT asked astutely.

  “Well, I just watched my son perform a medical procedure on a zombie to save a baby.”

  “You need to tell me that story.”

  “Oh, I will brother, but we’ve got some more pressing problems we need to deal with.” I called a meeting of the entire house occupants to let them know what I’d witnessed.

  “Like dolphins,” Trip had explained to the clearly confused table when I was done presenting my new information about the zombies’ ability to reach out for victims.

  “Is there any defense against this?” It was Stephanie who asked.

  “I’ve known all along!” Trip said almost gleefully. He’d pulled off one of his sandals and had his foot up by his nose. He took a big sniff and winced.

  “He’s talking those fool tinfoil hats isn’t he?” BT asked in disgust.

  “Those fool tinfoil hats saved your life,” I reminded him.

  “Thanks, asshole,” was his reply.

  “I think I can work on something that will be a little less conspicuous,” Mad Jack stepped in.

  “Maybe something without batteries,” I said.

  “Yeah, we don’t want anything burning through our skulls.” BT and I fist bumped under the table.

  “Is it a priority yet? I mean the zombies know we’re still here.” Dennis had just come in from a shift on guard duty.

  We all could only nod in agreement.

  “I think if and when MJ comes up with something—”

  “Or we use tinfoil!” Trip interrupted me by standing and blurting out with his finger in the air.

  “Or we use tinfoil,” I added. “We might want to start thinking about an exit strategy.”

  This was met with a chorus of disapproval, as I figured it would be. We were relatively safe here, we had supplies that a small third world country would be happy to have, and this was home. “Listen, I get it, that’s just a suggestion. The zombies aren’t going to go anywhere, at some point one of us has to leave. If any of you have noticed, every morning when we get up, there’re more zombies.” I could tell by some of the stares that most were not aware of this new development. “They’re amassing. I think they’re waiting to get to a number that we can’t repel, that we have no chance in hell of repelling. They get a couple of hundred of those new bulkers and they’ll take this house down.”

  There were murmurs, but no one doubted that.

  “I, for one, am not leaving.” It was Ron. I had the distinct feeling that if I said the sky was blue, he would have disagreed. This was exactly what we didn’t need, divisiveness. Some would stay just because it was the easier decision, not because it was necessarily the right one.

  “This isn’t a game, Ron. We need to make intelligent decisions for the safety of everyone.”

  There was no heat in his voice. “Staying is the most intelligent choice, Mike.”

  Even if I swayed everyone and they agreed to leave, I would not go. Not without Ron, and he was not going anywhere. I toyed with the idea of kidnapping him. The thought passed soon enough. For good or bad, right or wrong, good or evil, this home would be the one written in the annals of the Talbot legacy where we made our final, desperate, doomed final stand or a miraculous come-from-behind victory.

  I may have shown my utter disgust for the way the conversation went. I didn’t give a shit as I let my chair fall back behind me when I got up and left.

  The next morning, BT found me. I wasn’t doing much of anything. He smacked me on my chest.

  “Come on, MJ needs some help.”

  “I’m not test piloting his newfangled head scramblers. He’ll probably make us all like Trip.”

  “No, it’s for the transformers.”

  “Please tell me he didn’t make some new high-powered ice cream maker.”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Wait … actually, that’s not that bad an idea, not that soft-serve crap though; always thought of that as melty ice cream. First time I had it I was four; started crying because I thought it was going to get all over my hands.”

  “So you’ve had problems with your hands being dirty for a very long time?”

  “Wow, I guess I did. You think maybe the ice cream was the root of my problem?”

  “I think it goes much deeper than that, Talbot. Just come on, this has nothing to do with ice cream.”

  I followed BT outside. I was looking at a stack of four-inch-by-four-inch pressure treated posts.

  “Why am I looking at these?”

  “We need to dig some holes.”

  “Fence post holes? I hate digging fence post holes.”

  “Trust me, t
his is for a good reason.”

  “MJ tell you that?”

  “I did.” MJ said, coming over.

  “You going to help dig these holes?” I asked.

  “I invented this.” He was using those words as a way of politely saying, “no.”

  “Fucking engineers. Okay, tell us what we need to do.”

  “You need to dig holes. I would think that part would be self-explanatory.”

  “He’s kidding, right?” I asked BT. The big man merely shrugged.

  “Okay, egghead, where do you want the holes? How far apart should the posts be and what is the layout?”

  MJ merely pointed; there were small sticks in the ground with orange flags attached to them all around our perimeter.

  “Shit, now I look like the asshole.”

  “Nothing ever really changes with you, man.” BT said, grabbing the post hole digger while handing me a shovel.

  If we were in Florida, we would have finished the job in five or six hours. After ten, we were about halfway there. One does not have a firm grasp on frustration until they have dug dirt in Maine, the birthplace of rocks, apparently. The first hole had been a set-up, I think, because of the ease with which we had dug it. Every one after that had boulders that needed to be removed. I had argued heatedly that we should move the hole; Mad Jack, who was supervising the labor, had told us, in no uncertain terms, that could not happen. I wondered a few times that day if he could survive a shovel strike to the side of the head.

  Justin and Travis came out after a while to help. Justin looked like shit.

  “How you doing?” I asked him, fearful he’d spent the entire night thinking about Jess.

  “I’m okay.” He had a smile. “Avalyn didn’t sleep much. I stayed up with her.”

  “Avalyn?”

  “The baby needed a name.”

  “I guess she did. She doing all right?”

  “I don’t want to get gross, Dad, but, umm, Nicole is helping out.”

  “With feeding?”

  “Yeah, Dad, geez. You ever walk in on your sister breastfeeding two babies?”

  “No.”

  “It was horrible.”

  On a fundamental level, I knew it was a beautiful act of nourishment and maternal bonding. That it was only a corporate greed that infused the unnatural aspect of this onto our perverse Western culture. Still though, I’m not ashamed to say I didn’t want to watch my daughter breastfeeding. Maybe it made me realize she was no longer daddy’s little girl. I don’t know the reasons. I’m male. I don’t dwell on my feelings much. Suffice it to say, I thought it was hilarious Justin was scarred and thrilled it wasn’t me.

  “You’ll be fine. Watch out for the task master.” I pointed to MJ. BT and I pulled up a seat a few feet away from the work. My hands were raw, blistered, and in some spots, bleeding. I was about to ask BT how his hands were doing when I saw him take off heavy leather gloves.

  “You been wearing them things the whole time?”

  “You’re fucking clueless, man.” He set them to the side and took a long drink of water. “And don’t even look at them. They’d look like boxing gloves on you, anyway.”

  He was right. Gary and Trip took a shift as well. By the time night descended, we were nearly done. When we’d decided to call it a night, Mad Jack had looked pissed that we were so close and not finishing. He actually picked up the post digger. When the first impact sent vibrations up his arms, he’d wisely put the implement down.

  He cleared his throat then announced, “I think this is as good a stopping point as any.”

  Most of us were already in the house. The next day, we only had five holes to dig, and I almost couldn’t do it, my hands hurt so damn bad. MJ was already having the old fencing removed a section at a time and was adhering it to the new posts. Luckily, the zombies just watched from a distance.

  It was while I was helping move the old fencing into the new position I finally thought to ask why in the hell we were doing that. I initially had thought we’d be putting up more fencing, not just moving the old.

  “The fence was grounded; I needed the wooden posts.”

  “The transformers, Mike. Remember those?” BT asked.

  “Yeah, I remember them. So?”

  “Pretend we’re on Sesame Street. I’m going to give you two words and then you put them together, okay?” he asked in that condescending teacher to thick pupil way. “Electric.” He paused then said, “Fence.”

  “Your mom must have been a saint, having to put up with you,” I told him. “This going to be worth it?” I asked MJ. That was like asking the inventor of sliced bread if he thought it was a good idea. I could have not gotten a more biased answer if I’d tried.

  “Sometimes I think someone has forgot to flip your pancakes.” BT laughed.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “He thinks you’re only half done!” Trip shouted, though he’d come up to my ear with his hand cupped around his mouth as if he were going to whisper that.

  I had to pull back. “Better than being over cooked,” I told him.

  The fence moving procedure had gone much smoother than the digging, and more people could help out. We were done right around lunchtime. Which was perfect; I was starving.

  “Aren’t you guys going to stick around for the test?” Mad Jack looked distraught we were all leaving.

  “I’ll be back. I’m going to get a sandwich.” All the thinking about sliced bread made me hanker for one.

  When I returned with some food, I found Mad Jack by the side of the house. He had a huge lever nailed to a board stuck to the house, with a cable nearly as thick as my forearm attached to it.

  “Don’t touch that.” I was insulted he felt the need to tell me that. As if the red signs painted with huge warnings weren’t enough. I looked around him. The cable went to a bank of three of the transformers.

  “You sure this isn’t going to blow? I’ve seen what you could do with a nine volt.”

  “Should be fine.”

  “What should be fine?” BT had what looked like leg of cow and was gnawing on it.

  “Mad Jack is pretty convinced this set up isn’t going to blow up.”

  BT swallowed down hard on whatever had almost just got lodged in his throat.

  “All right, flip the switch,” I told him.

  “Anybody else coming?” He was looking for a bigger audience.

  “I think we’re it for now.” And the only reason I was there was because I wanted to see if all the tearing up of my hands had been worth it.

  “Fine.” He flipped the switch. I’ll be honest, I didn’t think anything had happened, then there was the buildup of a slight hum. “It works!” His face lit up like the angels had come down from the heavens and were singing just for him.

  I turned to look at BT. “I’m going back in to finish eating,” I said.

  Trip had come outside along with Gary. “Hey, man.” He hit my shoulder. “What are the lights for?” He pointed to small safety poles MJ had had us install that housed small red safety lights to let people know the fence was live.

  I told Trip as much.

  “Oh, I figured they were for an alien runway.”

  “Really? That’s the first thing that came into your mind?” BT asked.

  “Why wouldn’t it be? Aliens are real.”

  “Nice job,” I told MJ as I started to walk away.

  “Nice job? That’s all you can say?” He seemed pretty perturbed.

  “Umm, it’s a fence that hums. What else do you want me to say?” I took another bite of my sandwich.

  MJ looked on the verge of exploding. He took two quick steps toward me, snatching the sandwich from my hands. “I’ll show you nice job!”

  “That’s not cool, man. I’m eating that.” My hands were still up by my face, maybe hoping the food would magically reappear.

  He got within ten or so feet from the fence and tossed my sandwich at it. I don’t even know if disintegrate is the right w
ord. There was the zzziiittt sound like a bug zapper, and then there were atomized bits of my sandwich falling to the ground like some sort of strange protein snow shower.

  “How’s that for a nice fucking job?” If anything, MJ seemed to be getting hotter as he strode back and ripped out the cow leg from BT’s hands. I think BT was just as shocked as I was. MJ once again tossed this into the fence. The zzziiit sound was a lot louder; the outcome nearly the same.

  Trip fell to his knees, his head in his hands. “The horror! The horror, man! All that food, gone!”

  “Holy shit. Sorry, man,” I told MJ. “That’s unreal!” That seemed to quell him a little. Good thing too; I don’t think he would have stopped his demonstration until he started throwing people on that thing to prove his point.

  “Yeah, it’s unreal. I’m not using much more electricity than if I were running a hair dryer.”

  He started to go into the specifics of what he’d done and how it was being done. None of us moved. Honestly, he’d lost me at “invertor,” but I was going to let him speak his piece, as it seemed he may have solved at least one problem. It wouldn’t be long until we got our first test.

  It wasn’t a decade or even close to it, like I’d wanted. It was two more weeks, and just like I’d predicted, we’d started going back to our normal routine, to those things that made us feel more comfortable. I’d had to pull Gary by his ear to have him leave his personal bird’s nest.

  “We’ve been through this, brother, you can’t go out there. You can’t possibly have forgotten what happened the last time.”

  “Mike, you’re hurting my ear. I’m your big brother!” He swatted my hand away.

  “Then start acting like it. They’re out there, just waiting.”

  “Tommy says he can’t find them.”

  “That in no way implies they’re gone. That just means he can’t find them. Ever play hide and seek and not find someone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think I just proved my point.”

  “It’s just hard being in the house. Ron is so down, and he doesn’t want anybody near him. Angel, Sty, and Ryan, too. It’s tough. This is the only place I can hold on to a little of what life used to be like.”