The Zombie Letters

by Shoemate, Billie

  Ana looked up at the moon. That one crater . . . the dark one. The Sea of Tranquility. Truly the loneliest place in the universe. When she looked at it, it felt like a filtered reality. She could pretend. Up there, the whole place was untouched while Earth fell to pieces. If someone were up there right now looking back at Earth, they would have no idea that they were looking at a place soon-to-be more desolate than the lunar surface itself.

  Ana gasped as the men emerged from the base. She’d literally been holding her breath. Warm tears filled her eyes. She ditched the bike she sat on and ran to embrace her husband. He simply stood there, not returning the hug. Not one kiss. He stood there, stiff and wooden. She slowly pulled back from him. A commanding tone was always taken with her, yet he spoke quietly and carefully around Dennis. On the way to the base, they stopped for a moment to allow Dennis to rest his legs. A stray cat came up to Christian and started rubbing on his leg. Christian picked up the cat and carried it with him as they searched around for people. Anyone. Christian held that cat the whole time, even breaking open a vending machine so he could feed it something. Dennis always had a well-calibrated shithead detector, but this one was a hard nut to crack. Christian Garner looked like one of those oppressed-types. Maybe the wife had done something to him and he resented her for it. Who knows. Some marriages have some unforgiveable moments, but strangely, they keep going on . . . like someone wearing a broken watch because they like how it looks. There are just people like that. They aren’t necessarily bad; they just always find themselves arriving to the Party of Life after closing time.

  V

  The three of them hit it off pretty well, especially Vic and Frenchie; and why wouldn’t they? French was rich (not that it mattered much now), extremely good-looking, highly intelligent even by a doctor’s judgment and he knew how to fly a plane. Even when the world had turned to shit, he was still the most eligible male. As they sat around talking . . . actually, Vic and Alvin did most of the talking. Most of Darin’s toppings to the conversational salad were just a series of forced smiles and a shitload of nods. Alvin asked her if she’d like to see the plane. Her asked her. Not them. Doctor Miles liked the guy. He was polite and courteous, gracious and not douchey like rich people tend to be. He hated that twinge of jealousy he felt when Victoria’s eyes light up every time French spoke.

  “You coming, Doc?” she said, already beating their new friend out the door. “Never been in a plane before.”

  “No thanks . . . gotta make sure I guard all the food.” They both looked at him as if he’d sprouted antlers. “It’s a joke, guys . . .” Miles said. They chuckled a bit. Probably more out of pity than humor. Vic ran to the plane, yelling back at Alvin to join her. This was truly the first time Darin had seen her act totally safe and alive. Frenchie walked after her, fumbling in his pockets for his keys, not failing to turn around and give Darin a smile that suggested he knew he was going to fuck her.

  Miles turned around and found himself a lukewarm diet coke in a busted vending machine. It was probably already expired and as flat as tap water by now, but who gave a fuck anyway.

  “Darin?” Alvin’s voice said behind him. His voice was quieter than normal. He sounded concerned. Sincere.

  “Yeah, French?” Darin said, trying to mask the growing contempt in his voice.

  Alvin walked in closer and put a soft hand lightly on the doctor’s shoulder. He placed his hand there like that shoulder was fragile or something. Like it was made of fucking glass. Alvin knew, though. Miles had told him the whole story. Alvin did this because those shoulders had the weight of the world on them. He knew. “Darin . . . just tell her how you feel.”

  Darin stopped. Even his heart seemed to hold up a beat. He wasn’t sure how to process what he’d just heard. French smiled and gave Darin the slightest of nods. He meant what he said. “I’ve tried, my friend. Trust me.”

  Alvin nodded and walked to the door.

  “Frenchie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re a good guy. You’d make Vic very happy.”

  “No, pal . . .” he said. “Everything I had that made me special once is useless now. You need to realize just how truly wealthy you are. Wealth and success have nothing to do with money. I’m just lucky to have more paper in the bank account, man. That’s all it is now. Paper. You outshine me any day of the week. I don’t care what your hand was in all this. She don’t either. You’re blameless because your intentions weren’t bad like your partner’s. Let it go.”

  Darin sat still, saying nothing.

  “Sure you don’t want to come with us?”

  “Yeah. I was one of the most prominent doctors in my field, partner. I’ve seen more planes than most plane manufacturers have. You guys have fun. Take ‘er up if you want to. She’d enjoy that.” Darin called Alvin’s name as he walked away. He didn’t hear it. He just kept walking. The plane could be seen from the doorway of the small airport eatery and he could see Vic waiting by the pilot’s door, smiling. She caught Darin’s eye for a moment. In an unparalleled act of uncharacteristic guts on his part, he blew her a kiss. Her smile dropped for a moment and already, Doctor Miles could feel his face flush.

  Fucking moron. Why the hell did I do that?

  Her smile slowly returned and she pretended to catch it in mid-air, right in front of her face. She clasped her hand around it and placed it into her jeans pocket. Giving him a cute wink, she patted her leg where the invisible kiss was and returned to her imminent tour of the Cessna. For a moment, Darin thought he heard something shuffle in the room behind him. He quickly dismissed it and resumed to devour his half-open bag of stale Sun-Chips.

  A loud click interrupted the empty space behind him. A cold, metallic ring pressed up against the back of his neck, but it was too late to react. Whoever pressed the firearm to his head had beaten him to the punch. “Don’t move, man. Don’t make a sound.”

  “What do you want?” Darin said, letting the bag of chips fall to the floor.

  “That ticket outta here your friend arrived on. Now . . . do exactly as I say.”

  VI

  “What kind of airplane is this?” Vic said. She moved her hand along the outside of the plane like a blind man would.

  “It’s a 2004 Cessna 350. Just your run-of-the-mill single engine plane you get from diluting shares of stock away from twelve old farts who can barely walk to their cars, but can sell the hell out of my silly little smartphone apps.” The sound of a glass shattering made them both turn around. It came from the restaurant. Darin wasn’t in his chair anymore and the glass was lying in shards at the entryway. “Doctor Miles?” Frenchie said. He leaned into the plane and reached for the handgun. The gun he wanted . . . and the spare assault rifle in the back seat were missing. “Darin?” Alvin called out to him again. No answer. Alvin opened the cockpit door and reached under the pilot’s seat. Holstered to the underside of the seat was the Godfather . . . as it always was. The Godfather had gotten him out of a couple scrapes in the past. It was always smart for a man with his amount of corporate enemies to have a little special hidden away somewhere. “Guaranteed that whoever took my guns missed this one.”

  “What kind is that?”

  Placing the loaded gun into the waistband at the back of his pants, Alvin whispered, “Smith and Wesson 642 Airweight.”

  Vic looked at it cautiously. “Six shooter?”

  “Five.”

  “It’s tiny.”

  “Yeah . . . the Godfather can still pack a punch, though. That’s what I like about guns. No matter which one you have, they all work the same way.”

  “Why do you call it Godfather?” Victoria asked with her head craned to the doorway. No more sounds were coming from the eatery anymore. She trailed off . . . listening for something and hearing nothing.

  “Guy sold it to me . . .” Alvin lowered his voice to a near-whisper. “. . . at a firearm convention in Chula Vista, California. His last name was Brando. Godfather, get it? I thought that Godfather would b
e a fitting name for the little gun.”

  “I don’t hear anything.” She lowered her voice too. Vic sounded shaky and nervous. She wanted to call out to Darin, but she decided against it. Something was happening. Someone was waiting for them.

  “Just stay behind me,” French said. He walked to the restaurant with Victoria behind him. “Wait . . . I have an idea.” Taking the small, rubber-gripped silver pistol out of the back of his pants, he walked ahead of Victoria and looked into her eyes. “Do you trust me? When I say that you will be alright, do you trust me?”

  “Yes . . .”

  Alvin walked behind her and placed the gun barrel-first into her back pocket, leaving the handle sticking out. “I’ll walk behind you. When the big guy with the rifle points it at you, put your hands in the air. I will do the rest.”

  “How do you know it’s a big guy with a rifle?”

  Last night I saw what I thought was a light on in the control tower. I waited until about two in the morning and I ran over there to see what the hell it was. There was a big black guy standing at the door with a gun. My gun. Thank God he didn’t see me.”

  “And you were going to fucking tell us this when?” she said . . . doing that kind of scream-whisper women know how to do so well. “Darin could be dead in there. If something happened because of you not saying anything, I’ll . . .”

  “We were going to leave tonight. Right after we ate, I was going to mention it. I swear, Vic. We had to eat, you know.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned with her back to him and shrugged it away. “Listen . . . the rifle I always keep on me is always loaded. The other one, in case someone wants to get a little antsy, is always loaded . . . with blanks. A little trick I learned from a Vietnam vet friend I knew.”

  “Really . . .” she said, huffing under her breath.

  “Yeah . . . really. We still need to assume that he had ammo, though. You won’t get hurt. I promise.”

  She walked ahead slowly. Her eyes darted to the tall tower at the end of the airport. It loomed over them like a watchful giant. From somewhere within the highly-reflective windows up there, she saw a shadow shift. Then . . . movement on the ceiling. All shadows. Like liquid.

  Candlelight.

  They walked inside and immediately saw Darin. He was standing at the far end of the room by the register on the counter. A large, dark-skinned man was holding a single-barreled, old bolt action rifle that Alvin had on the plane. That rifle wasn’t the one that had blanks in it. “Who the hell are you?” Alvin said, inching closer behind Victoria. She’d already had her hands in the air.

  “You don’t ask me shit, man,” the gunman said. “Brothers said we gotta wait. Wait my ass . . . I’m takin’ your guns, your plane . . . and your girl.” He shoved the barrel further into the back of the doctor’s head and shouted in a deep, rumbling voice that was a bit slurred. Typically with darker black men, they tend to have redder eyes. This man in particular was very dark-skinned, but his eyes were downright bloodshot. Alvin could tell the guy had been drinking.

  “Wait a sec!” Darin shouted. “I think we can reach an agreement!”

  “Shut up, Miles!” Alvin screamed back, “Don’t say shit! Leave Archie outta this!”

  “What?!” the crazed man said, letting loose a stream of spit into Darin’s hair. “Who the fuck is Archie?”

  “Goddamnit, Darin!” Alvin snarled as he shouted. “He don’t need to know about that!”

  “Shut up . . . or I kill the whore instead.” He pointed the rifle at Victoria. With hands still in the air, she shrank back against Alvin and pressed her back against him.

  Darin shot a harsh look at Frenchie. “You wanna die, Alvin? Be my guest.” The gun was pointed back at him. “Listen . . . whoever you are. My name is Doctor Darin Miles. I’m a scientist with Locke Research Labs based in Washington DC. Pentagon, understand? This outbreak started when one of my team’s projects went haywire. Long story short, we found an ancient plant outside of Mount Fuji in Japan that helped us build the fucking shit that started this. It was all an accident. The extract from this plant acts as a . . . repellent.”

  The assassin shoved the barrel into the back of Darin’s head violently, making his head swim. “Buddy, you better start making sense real quick.”

  “Are you listening, numb-nuts? He’s telling you that the oil extracted from this plant keeps those things from attacking. It was used as a base for the drug that started this and for some reason, they pay no attention to anyone that has it on their skin,” Alvin said. He moved his hand to the butt of the gun at Vic’s back pocket. The man with the rifle didn’t see the small gesture, so Alvin put his other arm in the air.

  “Bullshit . . .” he sneered though his surly words. A small, sickly belch escaped his mouth.

  “Nope,” Alvin said, slowly lowering his hand and reaching for the plane’s keys. “Here.” Alvin tossed the keys at the drunken man. For a moment, Alvin thought that he was too inebriated to notice, but when the keys hit his chest, he fumbled to catch them. He lowered the rifle enough for Darin to quickly turn around and grab the barrel. Darin took the barrel into both hands and shoved it up, connecting it to the man’s nose. It instantly gushed blood, but to his amazement, he didn’t even flinch. They struggled for the gun, but the assassin quickly overpowered Doctor Miles. He snatched the rifle away, spilling Darin to the floor. Before he could raise the boom-stick to the good doctor’s head again, Alvin drew the small pistol and sent a bullet into the man’s eye. He remained on his feet for a moment and fell face-first onto the floor . . . nearly on top of Darin. “I want to assume that the others he referred to also heard that shot,” Alvin said, walking up to the heap on the floor and getting his weapon back. It was foolish assuming the drunk asshole didn’t check the gun beforehand. It was loaded. Live ammo. He indeed had the right gun. “We’d better get the hell out of here.”

  “You’re a hell of a shot with that thing,” Victoria said, extending a hand to lift Darin up. He stood up and held onto her hand . . . just a moment longer than he had to.

  “I’m just a collector. That guy was huge. Kinda hard to miss him. Eyes were so goddamn red, they looked like bulls-eyes.”

  They all ran to the plane and French leapt inside, turning on the engine quicker than the others could even open the doors. The plane whirled to life. When a bright light shot on in the control tower, the three of them were already heading up the runway. Alvin told himself he could have been pissed off that they had the rest of his guns, but at least he had the Godfather and one of his assault rifles. There were three of them now. Two guns were not going to cut it. They needed more.

  “We’re going to Kentucky,” Alvin shouted over the sound of the plane.

  “Might I ask why?” Victoria shouted back.

  “There’s a National Guard base right outside of Mayfield. It’s one of the largest armory stockpiles in the country,” Darin said.

  “Well done, Doctor Miles!” Alvin’s voice could barely be heard over the sound of the plane, but Darin could make it out well enough. When they shut the doors, the Cessna was as quiet as a car.

  Victoria could see why Frenchie liked flying so much. Up in the clouds, one could pretend that everything wasn’t quite as bad as it really was. The only thing around them was sky. The clouds looked like she could open a window and walk on them. She’d never seen anything like it before. The sky was enveloping; surrounding them all in a world of blue. It looked as if someone had wrapped a large box around the world and carpeted it in thick clouds. The ground didn’t matter. It seemed to matter to Doctor Miles at that moment. He sat beside her in the back seat with his gaze locked somewhere below the plane. Through the thick haze of clouds around the Cessna, the ground was still somewhat visible. Even from up here, Victoria Rains looked down and could make out the devastation their world had suffered. Buildings burned and the wrecked remains of civilization blew in the wind like tumbleweeds. Cars were lying in ditches, on their sides and driven halfway through homes. Da
rin’s face was pressed to the window, but she could see his reflection in it. It was all coming loose. The floodgates had opened. It was heart wrenching for her to see men cry. Victoria supposed she got it from her grandfather. He was such a strong and collected man . . . very tough. The only time she ever saw him cry was when her grandmother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Here and there, she had seen men weep since then. It was rare, but she did. It takes something truly different to make a real man break down. She couldn’t even handle men crying in the movies. It all came back to seeing the hardest male she had ever known, down on his knees in the garage where he thought no one was looking . . . pleading with a god he’d never believed in before that day.