For the Fallen

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