A Plague Upon Your Family

by Mark Tufo

  Justin was scared and with good reason. “I don’t know,” he stammered.

  The smile never left her as she struck again. The blow burned on the side of his face. “I think you’re lying to me Justin. But we’ll talk more.” Justin shivered. Eliza looked over her right shoulder and then was gone.

  “Justin! Justin! Wake up.” Tommy shook his friend a little harder than he meant to. Justin’s head bounced off of the car window.

  “What the fu…? Oh hey, Tommy. What’s going on? Did we stop?”

  “What happened to your face, Justin?” Tommy asked.

  Justin sat up and looked at his right cheek in the rear view mirror. Angry red welts the size and shape of a slender woman’s fingers were clearly outlined. “Shit, hell if I know,” Justin said as he gingerly pressed along the edges of the contusion. Justin had never been so scared about a nightmare in his life.

  “I think you’re lying to me, Justin,” Tommy said with a sad disappointment in his eyes. Tommy stepped out of the car and headed back to the Jeep.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Justin said as he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself.

  CHAPTER 8 Journal Entry Seven

  We had traveled fifty miles east of Bennett. I thought my bladder was going to burst. I was looking for any excuse to pull over and relieve myself. So when Tommy said he needed to talk to Justin I was all for it. I flashed my high beams until Alex acknowledged me with a quick toot of his horn. The big rig stopped in the middle of the road. There really was no reason to pull over onto the shoulder. The beauty of being this far east of Denver is that the landscape is much like Kansas, flat and unremarkable. We’d be able to see zombies for miles, unless of course they were hiding in snowdrifts or scrub brush. ‘Great,’ I thought to myself. ‘I’m not even going to be able to enjoy this piss, I’ll be so busy looking for the damn things I’ll probably end up pissing on myself.’ That was Number 33 on my list of hang-ups, but who’s counting. Obviously I am, I answered myself.

  Alex looked around nervously as he stepped down off the truck. “What’s up, Mike?”

  “Dude, I just need to take a quick leak!” (and rip some major ass , I didn’t tell him that part) I yelled back. After the events of the last few weeks I did not want to stray too far from the relative safety of the cars but I was still holding on to the vestiges of decency. That and I wanted everyone to be far enough away from my back blast. Twenty something years of married life and I had never (willingly) ripped a fart in front of Tracy. Sure, I’ve let go of my share in my sleep. I’ve even woken myself up with a few that were air splittingly loud. Whether or not I woke Tracy as well I don’t know, she never let on. I found the best middle ground available. I walked over to a small cattle fence, ten feet from the edge of the road. I could tell by the way the gas was heating the rear of my pants this one was going to be a stinker. I just hoped it wouldn’t leave a vapor trail in the frigid air. I was thankful to all the gods that still walked across the land that this wasn’t a call to nature that involved the other end. There wasn’t so much as a stop sign to hide that action. At least I could use my body to shield the majority of this most basic of necessities.

  “Wonderful,” I heard from the back of the truck as the door rolled up. “I’m stuck in that truck for God knows how long and that’s what I have to witness when I finally get out.”

  “Oh no.” My head exploded. Civilization, and possibly humanity itself is hanging on by a thread and that’s what survives? Mrs. Deneaux was gently lowered from the rear of the truck by BT and her nephew, Thad (the manager from Safeway). I almost lost grip of my manhood as it tried in vain to pull up into my body, the better to protect itself from the soul-sucking bitch that was walking on the snow swept roadway. I finished, yanking my zipper up. I nearly severed what my priest had circumcised forty-four years ago. ‘Alright, enough with the surprises,’ I thought to myself as I walked back towards the rear of the truck to see who else would be popping out of the back like a rabbit from a magician’s hat. My purpose was mostly to gauge our strength but partly to see what other malcontents might make themselves known. I looked into the murky interior, hoping that Jed had somehow managed to get aboard. Unless he was cowering behind the nearly catatonic April, this wasn’t going to be the case. In this new reality I would more likely expect to see Fritzy (the zombie cat-suit wearing rapist I had killed) than my unexpected ally Jed. Close to April, pushed against the back of the truck was Little Turtle’s guest greeter, Joann, and she was clutching on to a small group of children, three I thought but I wasn’t completely sure. I wasn’t even sure if they were hers, not that it mattered though, it seemed like a pretty symbiotic relationship. They clutched each other so tightly I thought it might take acetone to release them. Bad analogy I know, I was going with the whole super glue thing. Anyway, there would be no immediate help from that small scrum. Next was Igor, the Russian gate guard. He was sleeping comfortably against the left side of the truck with what appeared to be a bottle of vodka held firmly in his left hand. That was a welcome surprise, he was a little older and a little overweight, but I thought I’d be able to trust him in a fight. Provided, of course, that he stayed awake. And then my eyes widened.

  “Hi neighbor, happy to see me?” Jen asked.

  ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Besides Alex and his recovering wife, we had five small kids, a waifish woman that was holding on to two of the kids not in Joann's clutches, one uber-bitch, uber-bitch’s nephew that looked like he would be more comfortable counting zombies than killing them, Joann and April that had checked out and most likely needed an intravenous dose of Xanax, a giant black man that I was more than convinced wanted to break me in half, a drunk Russian and then the kicker - my lesbian neighbor Jen. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like lesbians, hell, I want to be one. It’s just that Jen had pretty much told me that she no longer had the will to live, and to top it off proved she was useless in a fight, having cowered in the truck on the day we had made a stop at the local National Guard armory.

  Paul pressed on my shoulder as he jumped from the back. “Thanks man,” he said.

  “Yeah, any time I can be of help,” I answered, never taking my eyes off Jen.

  “Well, are you going to help a lady down, or are you just going to keep staring at me?” Jen asked as she held her hand out to me.

  “Why are you in the truck?” I asked. It came out before I could stop it. It sure as hell wasn’t the politically correct thing to say but, man, I really wanted to know.

  She pulled her hand back as if it had been stung. “Listen Mike, I know how you feel about me,” she started.

  ‘Jen, if you had any idea of how I felt about you, you’d be over there huddling with the others.’ I wanted to say it out loud, my inner demons screamed to say it, my immature side cried to say it, my socially conscious, higher civility reasoning, stupid jerk other side had a different thought on the matter and forced me to keep my mouth shut.

  She continued. “I want revenge, Mike.”

  “Jen, we’ve had this conversation before.”

  Her eyes teared up a bit, friggen women, they always know which damn buttons of mine to push. Maybe I should stop wearing mine on my sleeve. If I put them under my jacket they’d be a little tougher to get to. I pursed my lips, and shook my head. She seemed to take that as an acknowledgement that it was okay to continue uninterrupted. “When we got back that day, I sat in my and Jo’s bedroom. Most of the time it was with a .32 caliber pushed to my temple.” I involuntarily blew out air. Jen choked up for a moment and then went on. “I just wanted it to be over, the pain, the hopelessness, everything. I mean what was the point, right?” I found myself nodding with her. “I awoke the next morning with the gun still pressed against my head.”

  “Holy crap, you were a muscle spasm away from, well, you know,” I said in disbelief.

  She smiled wanly. “I dreamt about Jo that night.” Her eyes got that far away look. “I dreamt about her love of life. No matter h
ow shitty things got for her, she appreciated and looked forward to the small things in life, a cup of hot cocoa, a trip to IKEA, a new bottle of patchouli, a game of softball. Oh God I miss her,” she sobbed. I looked away for a few seconds, letting her collect herself. She seemed grateful for the gesture. "Whew, sorry, I had to get that out. Jo would have wanted me to live, to love, to embrace everything. Not wallow in despair. If she knew that I had wanted to kill myself she would have kicked my ass."

  By the way, I would have paid to see that. Sorry, just a side note.

  “When I finally realized why my skull ached that morning, I pulled the gun away from my head and tossed it across the room. When it knocked over the hat I had put over the picture of me and her on our union day I knew then and there that Jo was still with me and I wouldn’t let her, or for that matter you, down again.”

  ‘That remained to be seen.’ I didn’t say it. I’m an immature dick, not a monster. I helped Jen down and handed her a power bar. I turned as I heard Brendon’s truck door open. Justin stepped out into the severely lit day, embracing his blanket like only Linus could.

  “God, he looks so pale,” Jen said. “Almost like he’s… sorry.” She looked over to me. We were both thinking it though. Justin’s head swiveled to the left and then up and over to his right and down again, almost like he was watching a monster serve that became an ace in a tennis match.

  “What’s he doing?” Jen asked.

  I watched as a fly circled around and around Justin’s head. Terror mounted. Well, my Marine Corps buddies were going to love this, big bad ass, afraid of a fly. What was going to be next? Was I going to be scared of the French? I watched as the fly did two more circuitous routes around his head and then landed on the very tip of his nose. Justin only stared down at it, never once unwrapping his hands from under the blanket to brush the thing away. My skin crawled with unseen, many legged bugs of varying size and color. “Okay everyone, I think it’s about time to go.” I shouted, never taking my eyes off the offending fly.

  “Oh don’t be a bother, Talbot, we just stopped,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she puffed on a cigarette. “These idiots,” she said as she swept her hand to encompass pretty much everyone, “won’t let me smoke in the back of the truck, some gibberish about second hand smoke.”

  “Fuck, stay, I don’t give a shit! Finish your cigarette. Finish a carton. Hell, go pull some grass, dry it out and smoke it. I’m leaving,” I answered in a yell. Mrs. Deneaux looked like she wanted to add fuel to the fire, but this wasn’t a scene at Wal-Mart where she could bitch someone out and basically get whatever her cold shriveled little heart wanted. Something in the look of my eyes must have told her that I truly would leave her there without a second thought. She ground out the remainder of her smoke under her shoe.

  BT came up to the rear of the truck. “Who made you boss?” his voice boomed.

  “You know what BT?” I said as I tried to make myself as tall and intimidating as possible. Not an easy trick to pull off when I was pretty much looking him in the sternum.

  “No, what?” he asked.

  “Rhetorical BT, rhetorical. Nobody made me boss. In fact I don’t want to be boss at all. That would actually make this entire fuck fest a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry about any of my decisions getting people killed. I would like nothing more than to lie in the back of that truck and help Igor polish off whatever liquor he has stowed away. So my giant friend, feel free to take the reins of this carnival ride and do with it what you may. I’m just too tired to deal with it.”

  “Aw, I’m just busting your balls, Talbot,” he said as he basically just stepped up into the back of the truck. “You’re just crazy enough to get us out of this.” And then he laughed. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or petrified.

  Alex had just finished up with his wife Marta, changing the baby’s diaper. “Hey Mike, what’s up? Not to be a pain in the ass, but driving this truck is a bitch. I wouldn’t mind taking a few minutes for the blood in my kidneys to start circulating again.”

  I didn’t even need to turn around when I pointed behind me. Alex’s face fell. “What is it Alex?” I asked.

  He tore his gaze from over my left shoulder and back to me. “What do you mean Mike? You just pointed it out to me.”

  “Is it bad?”

  “Are you messing with me, Mike?” Alex said with a frown.

  I shook my head in the negative.

  “It’s a speeder.”

  “How far away?” I asked, although I could almost approximate its distance as the minute tickle in my brain began to expand.

  Alex looked back over my shoulder. “Maybe a quarter of a mile. What’s going on cuate? How could that thing possibly know that we’re here, we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’m not sure Alex, but look at Justin.”

  Alex slowly pivoted his head, reluctant to look. The day was almost already a total disaster and it wasn’t half completed. “He’s just standing there. He looks pale but no worse than he was earlier.”

  “Look closer, Alex.”

  “What’s he looking at? Is that a fly on his nose? So?”

  “What’s a fly doing out here, Alex? In the dead of winter.”

  “It could have been in the truck, Mike,” he said, but I could tell that the words didn’t even ring true in his own head. Alex made the sign of the Holy Trinity on his chest. “Marta, finish up, we’re leaving.”

  The zombie crossing the snow-covered field wasn’t going to get to us any time soon, but it was disconcerting to be the prey as a predator closed in. I’m sure there isn’t a gazelle in the world that feels comfortable with a lion in the general vicinity. The fly finally alit from Justin’s face as he turned to look at our approaching company. Color rose in his cheeks, but because he was scared or enraptured was difficult to say. Tracy helped Justin back in to Brendon’s car and then looked over to me. She was worried, as was I, but for differing reasons. She was concerned with his physical well-being. I was more concerned with what was going on inside his head. I was beginning to wonder if Justin was a zombie GPS. Our own portable ‘Harmin’ (you know rhymes with Garmin) or better yet how about a Zom-Zom. Wonderful, death all around and I’m making plays on product names. By the time we pulled away I was able to make out facial features on our would-be assailant. He looked none too pleased we were making a hasty retreat. In the distance I could see more of his kind begin the fruitless journey across the frozen tundra in search of a meal. For one minute second I thought, ‘If Justin were to stay here would they stop pursuing?’ I said I thought about it, this isn’t the Bible, I can’t get in trouble for contemplating. Eventually we were going to have to stop and fight but the middle of a highway didn’t seem like the wisest place to make our last stand.

  CHAPTER 9 Journal Entry Eight

  The next two hours of driving did little to abate my feelings of dread. In fact, it did more to intensify it. I was trying to go over the events of the day to find some sort of alternate explanation for what was going on. First off, sprinting zombies were not on my agenda. Our survivability odds had just been greatly reduced. Any mode of transportation that didn’t include wheels was tantamount to suicide. These new zombies could run full tilt probably forever. In my hey day I could sprint for a max of maybe a quarter mile, now, hell, maybe 100 yards before some significant body part failed. I shivered thinking back to our escape from Wal-Mart. If we had encountered speeders then… well, I guess it would have been all over by now, and I wouldn’t have to be fixating on the damn issue at hand. The main problem right now was the sun, well, the sun and its gradual decline. We were going to have to stop, sooner rather than later, and with our own shining lighthouse transmitting our whereabouts I couldn’t fathom where we would find sanctuary. I’m not above sleeping in a car but with three other people it was not going to be a comfortable affair. We could all sleep in the truck bed, but if something happened we would have to abandon the Jeep and the Explorer, which was not an option. We could find a
defensible house, but images of the old Dawn of the Dead movie flickered through my brain plate, hands coming through windows and all that stuff. Come to think of it, that didn’t turn out to be such a good idea either.

  This was not looking good for the home team. Let’s see, we were outnumbered probably thousands to one, they don’t need sleep and they have just harnessed a second gear. Yep, not good at all. I was thinking about the myriad ways of our demise when I nearly finished the job myself. Alex had been slowing down for near on a half mile trying to gain my attention to pull along side. My thoughts were elsewhere when I almost slammed into his tailgate, his brake lights as large as saucers in my field of vision.

  “Two other cars on the road and you almost crash into one of them,” my wife stated. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive my Jeep.”

  I was pissed and had to bite back a sardonic reply, mostly because she was right. Not about smashing up her Jeep but the part about almost making us road kill. I had read once in one of those bathroom readers… Okay, don’t go getting all highbrow on me. One of my past life’s small pleasures was to sit on the throne and while passing time (and other things) gain some useless knowledge. And one of those little nuggets (get the pun?) was the fact that back in Oklahoma in 1899, there were two cars in the whole state and they had an accident with each other. They say history repeats itself, well there’s proof positive, almost.

  “Talbot!” my wife said with some force. “Alex wants something.”

  I pulled my hand across my face hoping to pull off the growing fog in my head. It didn’t work. I pulled up alongside the semi, a low throbbing apprehension coursing through my body.

  “What’s up Alex?” I yelled over the sound of our engines.

  “I’m getting tired Mike,” Alex yelled back. The words were superfluous, he looked exhausted and he had two small kids up in the cab with him. Young children could make you tired if you were just lying in bed and this was far from that peaceful scenario.