by Mark Tufo
“In time, Vivian, in time. There are still many things we can learn from him.”
“He is dangerous and resourceful, Dixon. If given the opportunity, he will bring this
place down.”
“I did not realize you had a flair for the dramatic, Vivian. This is a military base
with hundreds of military personnel and weaponry, I’m not overly concerned.” Dixon
laughed.
“You should be.”
“We also have his family.”
“You have the Talbots here?” she asked, pointing to the floor.
“Yes, Vivian. You act as if we let sharks loose in a fish tank. This Talbot will not
do anything if he believes it could harm his family.”
“You’ve got it wrong, Dixon, he will do something because you are threatening his family. Kill them, kill them all.”
“I’m not a murderer of women and children, Vivian,” he said indignantly.
“Oh…NOW you decide to employ a moral compass. Little late for that, don’t you think?
I’m going to pack so that when this goes to hell, which it will, I’ll be able to leave
that much quicker. I should have stayed on Michael’s side,” Mrs. Deneaux said sadly
as she walked out of Dixon’s office.
Dixon shook his head as she left. “Age has tempered her resolve.”
Chapter 27 – Talbot Family
“He’s alright?” Tracy asked, hugging Porkchop.
“He seemed alright…but probably not, because he didn’t want any of my chicken,” Porkchop
said.
“This is so exciting,” Trip said, walking around the room, a glow seeming to emanate
from him.
“Exciting?” Gary asked. “What’s exciting?”
“Backstage, man,” Trip said enthusiastically. “How many times can you say you’ve been
backstage at a Dead show?”
“Ummm…still zero,” Gary said.
“Leave him be,” Tracy said. “At least one of us should be enjoying themselves.”
She smiled. She was relieved to hear her husband was alright, even if he was in a
cell, it wasn’t his first time. Doc had been in earlier to tell them how BT was doing.
The flat emotionless way he had talked was disturbing. Tracy couldn’t blame him for
that, though, not after all he’d been through. That he was still functioning at all
was a testament to the strength of his will or his desire for revenge. She hoped for
his and Porkchop’s sake it was the former rather than the latter.
Chapter 28 – Mike Journal Entry 13
‘Tommy?’ I asked, feeling the boy around the peripheries of my mind. ‘You’re still
alive? I thought I’d lost you.’ The relief within me was palpable.
‘You alright?’ Tommy asked me back. ‘I’m almost as hard to kill as you are.’ Even
though he was talking in my head I knew he said that last part with some mirth. ‘When
we were going up in that helicopter, I was just happy that all of you were safe. And
then I saw everyone unconscious and you had just been given a shot. I hit the release
on the winch. Crashing down onto the zombies bought me the time I needed as I jumped
out of the truck and ran for cover. I got the distinct impression if they couldn’t
catch me they would attempt to kill me, and I wasn’t wrong. They shot up the truck
until it finally caught the fuel on fire.’
‘How’d you get away from the zombies?’ I asked.
‘I can move faster than they can react.’
I was having a hard time with the concept and Tommy could tell.
‘Just think about you walking around normally and everyone else is in super slow motion.
That’s what it’s like for me with the zombies. What’s this got to do with women’s
locker rooms?’ Tommy asked, picking up on some stray thoughts.
‘Ah…nothing…sorry. I’m glad you’re here,’ I changed the subject.
‘I’m not quite there. I’m following the ground unit back. I just picked you up a few
miles ago. How’s everyone else doing?’
‘Good as far as Porkchop says.’
‘Porkchop’s there?’ I heard Tommy ask. It was a mixture of anguish and thankfulness.
‘Doc’s here too, Tommy,’ I said. The boy went silent. I was picking up images of horrific
detail. ‘He may have found a cure for BT.’
‘That’s great,’ Tommy said with true appreciation for that fact, but the thoughts
of Doc’s family dominated his attention.
‘Tommy, he said he knows a way to kill you.’
‘I would imagine,’ Tommy said.
‘I’m telling you this so you’ll be careful,’ I admonished.
‘I’ve got it, you don’t want me to die until I help you get out,’ he said with some
withdrawal in his voice.
And for the most part, he nailed it on the head. On some level, I did love the kid,
but he had destroyed the foundation of trust from which our relationship was based.
I hoped that someday we would get back to where we were, but it was going to take
time. He had been lying to me the moment I had seen him on the Walmart roof.
‘Tommy, would it help if I said I don’t want you to die at all?’ I asked.
‘It would, Mr. T, it would.’
‘Get us out of here kid, all of us.’
He pushed his darker thoughts down. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
‘Looking forward to it.’
Talbot-Sode #1
As it’s been noted in previous journals, and from what goes unstated, I’ve not been
a poster child for the law-abiding citizens of the world. I’d been caught in enough
scrapes that I’d been forced to join the military or watch out if I dropped the soap.
If I’d been caught in even a tenth of the things I’d truly done, I’m sure I’d still
be doing hard time. And at the root of a lot of those things was Dennis. Now, I’m
not saying it was his fault, not by any stretch of the imagination. It just so happened
that when we got together, bad shit just kind of happened.
More than likely booze was the biggest mitigating factor. I don’t know…when we got
together it was like adding a flare to a gas can. I had just picked Dennis up from
his house. Okay, shit, let me throw in a disclaimer. I am in NO way advocating Dennis’
behavior or mine. If I caught any of my kids doing the shit I’d done, I’d kick their
asses two ways to Sunday. Yeah, I know, I’m hypocritical. Any of you parents reading
this know what I’m talking about, any of you without kids right now will eventually
get it. Back to the...umm ‘story’ that’s right…story, this is a piece of fiction that
will not run afoul of jurisdictions, paroles, or statutes of limitations. So I had
mythically picked up Dennis at his house, and he had figuratively pulled out a bottle of Southern Comfort—which is basically bottled diesel fuel. I
took a pull on it like only an inexperienced drinker does, meaning I took in way too
much of the fiery liquid.
“Good!” I lied. “Where’d you get this shit?” I looked at the bottle.
The ‘shit’ part I meant. I’m not really so sure why the majority of my youth revolved
around booze and drugs. I grew up in a relatively stable environment. I wasn’t abused,
mentally, physically, or emotionally. I had no ailment that the drug companies had
yet to create a moniker for. It was just what we did—partying I mean. This was before
Nancy Reagan got on her high horse and started talking about ‘Just Say No.’ We were
; always pretty much ‘Just Say Why Not.’ It was an accepted part of our youth. It was
as much a part of our growing up experience as was texting for my kids.
We had some time to kill before Linda Mahoney’s party began, so we were basically
riding around catching a hell of a buzz from the SoCo. It was then I noticed the cop
lights, not behind me, but rather in front. We were on a side street and the cop had
pulled up to someone’s house on a call. I drove by slowly, making sure not to look
over and make any sort of eye contact. Not that it would have mattered, the cop was
inside the house.
“Nobody’s in there,” Dennis said.
“Good,” I agreed as I cruised slowly past.
“Pull over up here a little bit.” Dennis pointed to a darkened area on the street.
“This really isn’t the best place to take a piss,” I told him.
“You got any tools in your car?”
“Just you.”
“You want any more of the SoCo?” he threatened.
“Fine, I’ve got a little roadside assistance kit or something my dad put in the trunk.”
“Let me see it.”
“Why?” I asked suspiciously.
“I want those lights.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. At first I figured he meant a streetlight,
but we were nowhere near that HIGH. Then I figured something on a house; still…nothing
stood out.
“Dude, what are you talking about?”
“I want the cop lights,” he said, sticking his hand out for the keys so he could get
in the trunk.
“What? Are you nuts? You want to steal the lights off a cop car with the lights going
and the cop in the house?”
He thought for a moment. “Yeah…that’s about it.”
So then I thought for a moment. “Okay, let’s go.” I handed him the keys. I don’t think
the accumulated brainpower we shared that night could have powered an LED light.
“That’ll work,” Dennis said, grabbing a couple of screwdrivers and an adjustable wrench.
We walked up to that cruiser like we owned it, the red and blue lights playing havoc
on my head. Vertigo was threatening to toss me on my ass—or maybe just my stomach
contents onto someone’s lawn.
“Hold this.” Dennis directed my hand to the adjustable wrench.
There were two bolts on each side of the car that secured the lights to the roof.
We spun the driver’s side ones off in under a minute. Now came the more dangerous
part, because we would be on the side that faced the house we figured the cop to be
in. Although, in reality, he could be just about anywhere. I once again placed the
wrench over the nut while Dennis worked furiously on the screw. I would alternate
between closing my eyes from the nauseating lights and keeping lookout. The bracket
clattered to the ground, bouncing off the top of my sneaker first.
“Ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
He tore the lights free from the car, snapping the wires that supplied the power.
It took me a moment to get over the thrill that the stupid lights had finally stopped
swirling before I sped to catch up with my fleeing partner-in-crime. I may have heard
someone shout ‘Hey you’ or the much more scary ‘I know your mother’. Either way, I
wasn’t stopping. Dennis tossed the lights into the backseat of my car and we both
hopped in. My heart was slamming against my chest and it was all I could do to start
the car. We hadn’t driven more than a quarter mile away before we both started laughing
so hard I had to pull over because I was tear-blind.
I drove around with those cop lights in my car for a good week. If I had gotten stopped
for a broken taillight (which I had at the time) I would have been busted.
Of course it was big news in the small town. It made the front page of the local newspaper.
There was a picture of the cruiser sans lights, and how they had some leads and suspects,
but nothing ever came of it.
Dennis ended up putting the lights in his room, dragging them out a couple of times
for parties. Hooked up to a car battery, they were just as obnoxious then as when
they were mounted. I think he eventually ended up trading them for a bag of weed.
Talbot-Sode #2
At this point I’d known Dennis nearly four years and we were driving around. I want
to say we were going to Linda Mahoney’s, again, for a party. Either her parents traveled
a lot, or they just weren’t much into supervision. All I knew was she had great parties
and her kisses were nothing to sneeze at.
“Hey, pull over,” Dennis said.
“Again, man? You just went. You’ve got the bladder of an eight-year-old,” I told him.
“This is where my brother is buried,” he said, getting out of the car before I could
completely stop.
“Gonna be where you’re buried if you do that again,” I said when I finally was able
to place the car in park.
He was walking up to the gates of the Plimpton Hill Cemetery. It was your typical
start-to-a-scary-movie cemetery. A wrought iron gate held in place by stone wall,
giant monoliths and even some earthen tombs dotted the uneven terrain. Brown leaves
would occasionally swirl in the wind when it kicked up. You know, typical stuff.
“Come on, man, what are you doing?” I asked, not yet leaving the car. I thought he
was full of shit. He had a younger brother and sister, and as far as I knew, they
were at home.
“Talbot, my brother is buried here,” he insisted, placing his hands on the gate.
He sounded so sincere. I might have been a self-absorbed teenager who may or may not
have been drinking and smoking too much, but I’m pretty sure I would have known if
my best friend’s brother had suddenly passed. I reluctantly got out of the car to
see what game he was playing. I felt like I was getting set up for a good scare. I
took a quick leak by the side of my car just in case he scared me good and my bladder
suddenly felt the need to release. At least this way the reservoir would be dry.
I stood next to him, my hands in my pockets. It was an early fall night not particularly
cool, at least not until I approached the gate.
“I had a brother that died as a baby,” he said, not looking over at me.
We’d known each other for years and not once did this come up. I mean, I guess it’s
not something you’d discuss all the time. ‘Man, I was kissing Debbie Lynch and I have
a dead brother.’ Doesn’t really mesh, but at some point, you’d think it would come
up. Maybe not, though. We’re guys; deep meaningful conversations are not really in
our repertoire.
He pulled the gate open and slid through.
“They don’t lock those?” I asked, sullenly following my friend in.
The night got darker the moment I crossed over that threshold, probably because the
streetlights didn’t stretch their protective shine that far, or maybe it couldn’t
penetrate the darkness that permeated that place. Breath plumed from my mouth, I would
have said something to Dennis if my teeth weren’t chattering as well. He’d noticed
anyway--I watched as he tilted his head and purposefully blew into the air creating
