by Mark Tufo
“We follow this road for like a couple of hundred yards, take a right, and we’ll be
on Jefferson, and then it’s just about right there,” BT said, looking at a map that
had been ripped from a phone book. “It’s quiet here.” BT looked around.
“The witches cast spells to keep it that way,” I told him.
“Makes sense,” he said, coming down the stairs.
“You can kiss my ass, Talbot,” Tracy told me.
“I don’t know why you say that to me as if I’m going to take offense,” I told her.
“I’d do it gladly.”
Salem really did look as if it had been relatively untouched. That did little to make
me feel good though. The last place I thought had been untouched by the zombie invasion
had merely been a time bomb waiting for an unsuspecting food supply to walk by, and
Cash had paid the penalty with his manhood. I cringed just thinking about it. That’s
it, next chance I got, I was going to get a metal male chastity belt. Yeah, right
now Bennett, Colorado and Salem, Massachusetts had just about that same feel. Although,
I’m pretty sure Bennett didn’t have any witches, but I could be wrong.
The DPW building was much like the rest of this place—undisturbed. And it was creeping
me the fuck out. Battles, mayhem, and destruction I understood. Where was everyone?
The gate was open, which was a good thing, because the chain that was wrapped around
the left side of the sliding fence looked like it could keep King Kong penned up.
“What do you think, Mike?” BT asked.
“I was thinking I’d maybe like an ice cold beer while I’m sitting on a recliner in
some ski chalet. Maybe a good football game on, and I’ve never had a pedicure in my
life, but that sounds like a good idea as well.”
“How long have you known him?” Gary asked.
BT just shook his head. “I mean about this place, Mike.”
“Then you really should be more specific,” I told him. We were still sitting in the
truck staring at the small building that was DPW headquarters. “Gary shut the gate,”
I told him as I pulled all the way in. “Wrap the chain, too.”
I did not take my eyes off the building. It only took us a couple of minutes to do
a complete sweep. We couldn’t even find so much as a trace that something bad had
happened. Besides a bunch of dust and cobwebs, the place looked like it was waiting
to open up. Salem had three plows, one of which was in the garage in more pieces than
a jigsaw puzzle. The other two were all geared up with large plows and a full dump
of sand.
“Pick one, brother,” I said, handing him the keys that I had found on a pegboard next
to the receptionist’s desk. A large plume of black smoke shot from the exhaust pipe,
the diesel engine was incredibly loud in the still of the day.
“Dump the sand and shut that thing down,” I told Gary as I jumped up onto the runner.
If whoever was still in the town hadn’t yet known of our visit, they sure did by now.
It took Gary a few minutes to figure out how to work the lift, and he damn near died
for it. He’d—hell all of us really—forgot to unlatch the tailgate to the truck. So,
as the dump portion began to raise up, the sand couldn’t escape. Gary’s front wheels
were six inches off the ground and threatening to hurtle him and the truck into the
air and onto its back before I shouted at him to let it back down. Luckily, the learning
curve had already been traveled and he knew how to do it quickly. But it was more
time that the loud engine was thrumming. I undid the tailgate, Gary raised the truck
back up and, when all the sand was out, he popped the truck into gear. When he stopped
a short ten feet away, the tailgate slammed into the rear of the truck with enough
force to sound like a Howitzer had been fired. And then he did it again.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed at him. It wasn’t a quarter of the volume
of the still echoing cannon-shot.
“Getting any sand that was stuck in the truck bed loose.”
“It’s loose! Drop the damn thing!” I told him.
“He’s your brother,” BT said to me.
“Yeah, but we’re in this together,” I retorted.
“We’re alright,” Tommy replied. He was off in the far side of the yard and had one
hand cupped to his ear. He seemed to be listening for something none of the rest of
us could hear.
The resuming quiet once the truck was off had a calming effect. If man was ever able
to scrape himself up off the sidewalk, it was going to be difficult getting used to
our noise pollution again.
I went back into the office and rooted around until I found what I was looking for.
“Gary, give me a list of what you need,” I told him.
“I’d rather go with you in case I see things I could use.”
“You need to make sure that thing is mechanically sound. BT and I will go grab supplies.”
“Wonderful, do I get a say?” BT asked.
“No,” I told him forthrightly.
Gary was furiously working on his list like it was a timed event.
Tracy was giving me a decent version of stink eye.
“You can almost see the hardware store from here,” I told her. “It’s less than a mile.”
“Talbot, we’ve been over this before, I hate separating.”
I knew she was right. I’d been breaking the damn unwritten horror rule for pretty
much the entire invasion. Never Split the Group! Eventually, it was going to bite me in the ass. The town was quiet; there was no denying
that. I didn’t think it was because all of the zombies had gone on vacation though.
My guess was stasis, and as of yet, we had not discovered the giant lair. I felt like
a blind man walking down a street full of sinkholes; eventually I’d fall in.
“Fuck it, you know what? You’re right. I probably should take Gary so he can get exactly
what he needs. We can fit everything and everybody in the back of the truck.”
“Really? You’re really agreeing with me? Are you alright? Is the disease you have
terminal?” she asked in mock horror.
“I’m flexible,” I told her.
“Yeah, just like wrought iron,” BT said.
“Or ceramic,” Tracy added.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” BT said. “Because it’s brittle.”
“Kiss my ass. Gary, you think you can drive this thing without tossing the people
in the back all around?”
“I’ll give it a shot,” he said with a smile.
“Wow that is so not comforting.” I said.
Gary was driving, and of course Henry got to ride up in the cab. I put him up there
before I could get any objection from Tracy. Tracy went up there as well because,
after the big dog took up his space, she was really the only other one that could
fit. That left me and the boy’s club to hold on for dear life in the back of the truck.
I made sure we were all holding onto the edge of the bed as Gary pulled out. Even
completely expecting it, I almost did extensive damage to my dental work as my head
bobbed and almost slammed into the steel.
“He drives as good as you,” BT said, holding on for dear life.
Tommy was actually perched on the roof like an antenna; the swaying and jerking of
the truck having completely no effect on him as if he had his own internal gyroscope.
I noticed that his rifle
was in his hands, and he was scanning the buildings as we
passed. It was not a comforting feeling. If he knew something, though, he wasn’t sharing.
Justin and Travis seemed to be enjoying the improvised carnival ride.
“What’s up with Tommy?” BT asked, nodding his head to where the boy was sitting.
I shrugged. I didn’t know. “He’s feeling a disturbance in the force.”
BT looked at me for a few seconds, a questioning furrow developing in his eyebrows.
“Is that a Star Wars reference? I told you, I’m not into that geek shit.”
“Geek shit? Star Wars changed my life.”
“Did it get you laid?”
“I was twelve when I saw it.”
“I’m talking later in life. Did you ever tell a woman you were a huge Star Wars nut and she just wanted to jump your bones?”
“Well, no, nothing quite like that.”
“Point made.” He smiled.
“So you equate life altering with getting laid?” I asked.
“Don’t you?”
I paused. For the second time that day, I’d been presented with an argument I could
not dispute. “Well, it was still a great movie,” I blustered, doing my best to save
face.
“Friggin’ nerds,” I thought I heard him mumble.
Unlike the rest of the town, the hardware store had been hit. The front windows were
smashed out and what looked like long ago dried blood was pooled up all over the front
sidewalk. From who or what was impossible to tell. The brown stains on the cement
were the only remnant left from what had happened.
“Tommy?” I asked.
He shrugged. Gary was idling in front, the sound echoing off the store and making
everything that much louder. Without any prompting from me, he shut the truck down.
The resulting quiet wasn’t any better.
I climbed up and over, placing my feet carefully as I descended down the side of the
truck, finally finding the tire. When I was confident I was not at an ankle turning
height, I jumped down. I immediately had my rifle at the ready. “We should have walked.”
I said taking stock of my bumps and bruises.
“Isn’t there another hardware store we can try?” Tracy asked as I came up alongside
her window.
“Probably, but I heard these guys were having a sale,” I told her as I advanced cautiously.
“I’ve got the coupons.” BT rushed to catch up.
“You guys should take your show on the road,” she replied.
Tommy slid down the roof and hood and silently landed next to us.
“Impressive,” I told him.
“I’ve been practicing.”
“For what, a Starsky and Hutch remake?” BT asked.
“You’re giving me shit about Star Wars and you like Starsky and Hutch?” I chided him.
“Now a 1975 souped-up Ford Gran Torino will get you laid,” he said, referring to the
car in the popular TV series. Again the bastard was right. “Can’t really drive an
Artoo unit around, now can you? And if you could, you sure couldn’t find room for
a date.”
“I liked it better when you didn’t like me,” I told him as I advanced on the store.
“What makes you think I like you now?”
“There are machetes in there,” Tommy said, brushing by us both.
“So?” I asked, following him. I wasn’t planning on visiting the rain forest anytime
soon.
Tommy had already entered the store. BT and I were hard-pressed to keep up.
“Take the sheath off,” Tommy said as he tossed me a large bladed machete. He didn’t
say it loud, but there was definitely a sense of urgency implied. He did the same
to BT.
BT looked over at me. I shrugged, but he was also ripping off the wrapping that protected
curious little kids from being able to wield a dangerous weapon. As all of you know,
‘child-proof’ applies to adults as well. I was struggling with the damn thing.
“Put your gun up,” Tommy said, rubbing his thumb along his now exposed blade and nodding
in satisfaction.
My first thought was to tell him to ‘fuck off’. Then I shouldered my rifle. Tommy
spun away from me.
“Oh fuck!” I said, hurriedly working on my blade as I peered down the aisle. A zombie
was peering at us, his head cocking from side to side like it was assessing something—or
more likely us.
“No shots,” Tommy said, getting into a defensive posture.
“What?” BT asked, finally looking up with a look of victory on his face for being
able to conquer the damned wrapping.
“How’d you do that so fast?” I asked, sweat breaking out on my brow.
“Because I’m not a…” And then he stopped. He must have caught a glimpse of the thing
looking at us. “Shit.”
I smacked the blade hard against a shelf, the force shattering the plastic wrap It
also had the un-added benefit of getting the zombie to move.
“Leave it to you, Talbot,” BT said, getting his blade up.
“I didn’t make him materialize.”
Tommy was swinging, and if not for the speed he possessed, I think the zombie would
have sideswiped the blade; as it was, it was pretty close. The blade clipped the top
of its head about an inch from the edge. The speed and the torque with which Tommy
delivered the blow sheared off the left side of its face. It fell away like a sliced
piece of bologna from a dropped package. Had I seen it in a movie I would have thought
the effect was as cool as hell. Live and personal, it was horrifically disturbing.
For the briefest of seconds the zombie just stood there, his brain, eye and teeth
all exposed on that side. Then he fell away, the weird part was he landed almost perfect
in conjunction with his sectioned face like he was trying to reattach it by proximity.
“Behind you,” Tommy breathed without actually looking.
I came up with the standard “Huh?” Luckily, BT had taken his morning coffee.
“Mike,” came his reply.
By the time I was turning, his blade was already in motion. He lodged his midway through
the zombie’s neck, the head lolling to the side. I wasn’t having the easiest time
with these disturbing images. There was a reason I didn’t like melee weapons.
Upset stomach or not, I needed to get into the mix, because I could guarantee I’d
be more sick if I became a meal. BT almost killed me when he wrenched the blade free—the
flat of it striking me in the top of the forehead. I staggered back, blood pouring
into my eyes, probably split my skin open like an overripe peach.
“Sorry!” he shouted, his blade once again moving forward.
Another fucking reason to hate close combat. I quickly wiped my sleeve across my face,
mopping up the worst of it. A zombie had closed to within a couple of feet. I didn’t
have enough time to swing so I jabbed the thing like a spear, catching him directly
in his open mouth. I cringed as the blade struck and, at points, stuck against his
teeth. Fingernails on a chalkboard had nothing on this. I drove the point through
the back of his neck, and yet he still kept coming forward. I brought my right leg
