by Bonds, Javan
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63
Thirty Pieces of Silver
Alonzo’s girlfriend, Alana Astarita, was walking through the door just on his heels. When hearing gunfire, she waited outside the Sheraton for a moment. Cracking the entrance, she called. “Alonzo, you okay?”
“It’s all good in here. I dropped me a peevie!”
She started walking in. “What? How? But we’re in the city.”
“No shit. Looks like it was Reaca.”
At a dead stop, Astarita flexed her hands in a panic. “What? You better be fucking with me.”
Her boyfriend chuckled. “I ain’t. Come see for yourself!” he gestured her over.
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Fielder never saw an end to his reign. Because of that, no one else did either. Though there was no structured line of succession in The Black Hand, Alonso Sanchez could safely assume he was somewhere in the top fifty. Not one of the obvious uppercrust, he and Alana got a room in the Sheraton. Of course, it wasn’t on the top floor with the big bosses, but he was high-ranking enough to bask in the extremely rare luxury of electricity.
Only a lowly pusher before the fall, his quick thinking saved Reaca’s life on more than one occasion. Boosting his cred, he was given special privileges by his superiors. Seemingly nobody moved up as speedily as he. After this, I’m gonna move up even quicker!
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As far as Sanchez could see, no one was around. At least the first floor was empty. He looked up and yelled, hoping to be heard by any of his fellows. “Where everybody at?”
Nearly a minute of silence went by before a voice came from an upper level. “There’s a zombie in here, cuz! Watch yourself!”
“Not no more . I took care of that shit!”
After a thought, he yelled up again at whoever was brave enough to come out of one of the rooms. “Go check on Reaca.”
“All right. Hang on!” the voice called down.
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A few minutes of waiting went by before the voice frantically hollered back down. “It’s a fucking mess up here! Nothing but bones on a bloody bed. It’s gotta be the boss!”
The man on the first floor snickered to his girlfriend, “Probably Nedra.” He again raised his pitch, speaking to the voice upstairs. “Nah, I’m guessing that’s his woman. Reaca... Or at least what was Reaca... is down here.”
“He okay?”
Alonzo laughed. “Shit no. He is blue ass dead on the floor!”
“What?” the other came, incredulous.
Sanchez was aware what this meant. His mind was racing. He yelled back to the voice above him, “I reckon the boss turned in his room, ate his girlfriend and was headed outside. It had a gun!”
“Damn! Well, at least somebody took care of it. I’m gonna come down and look.”
Though it wasn’t technically a betrayal, Alonso was happy to have just removed The Dictator. There would always need to be one to take the place of the former. For once, he was in a position to wrest control of the place he called home. Without even being paid for it... yet... Alonso Sanchez was now the leader of The Black Hand, ready or not.
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64
I’ve Got My One Way Ticket To The Sky
“So it really was Reaca.”
“And you really shot him... it.”
“Didn’t see any bite marks.”
“Wonder how he turned.”
“Good thing you stopped it before it got outside.”
“We found at least five bodies on the way down here.”
“Don’t know how it knew how to use a gun!” Several gang members continued giving reports to Alonzo.
They were all standing around him, seeming almost submissive. Clearly, he became the leader of The Black Hand by assassinating Fielder. Easy to see, especially for him, Alonzo Sanchez was now the boss. It made him feel powerful. Standing beside him holding his hand, Alana was nearly giddy. She knew it as well.
Still on the ground floor, grouped around the corpse of the peevie that used to be The Dictator, the torch had clearly been passed. Having never held a leadership position such as this, Alonzo only played the part on the examples he had been given. He intensely commanded the others with a lifted thumb. “Go change out the mattress in my room. Lemme know when all the remains are cleaned up.”
“You gonna sleep?” the underlings were disbelieving.
Throwing his head back, the new incarnation of The Dictator chuckled, “Shit yeah, cuz! We all gotta sleep on what happened tonight. Making decisions comes after sunup.”
The new incarnation of the dictator had just moved to the top of the food chain.
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65
Mo Journal Entry 5
A head slowly poked out of the tank’s hatch. Incrementally, Junior laid back down, his enemy not yet looking his way. He appeared to be just another destroyed body, covered in chunky gore.
Deciding all his foes had been eliminated by his driver’s suicide, Mr. Gillenwater held back a chuckle. Pulling himself from the armor, he gazed over the downed enemies of the New Southern Order, hearing weak moans and coughs, he knew some of them were not expired yet, but he wasn’t willing to spend the time to finish each off.
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Surely, the women are still alive somewhere. They will definitely fire on me given the chance. Regardless, I am not about to lower myself and look for one of the guns of these bastards. Getting back to the compound is now a priority.
There are no peevies to speak of, so I am not really worried about being attacked by the undead on my trek. The part I dread most about the walk is the walking. People of my class do not demean themselves by performing such a chore as foot travel.
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In his hurry to climb down from the tank, The Dictator glanced right over Junior, who was doing his best to play dead. Mr. Gillenwater raced to the ragged opening in the fence. He was almost home free. I was betting he thought there was no defeating The New Southern Order. Wrong!
After he passed, Junior stood. Drawing his pistol, he screamed at the back of William Gillenwater, “Colonel!”
The man in the white suit stopped and turned to face his caller. He took in the bloodied figure pointing a gun at him, seeming surprised. “So is this the end of the New Southern Order?”
I instinctively wanted to shout out. “You bet your ass it is!” Figured I would leave the badass comebacks to the heroic, bearded man with the gun.
Junior spit a stream to his side. “Y’all could’ve just let us be and gone about yer business. You gotta pay for what ya done... would’ve done to us. And what y’all did to all them people before us.”
Throwing his shoulders back, The Colonel stood up straight and apparently accepted his fate. Junior raised the pistol at a distance of no more than 20 yards, preparing to give The Dictator his ultimate punishment. Maybe he realized he deserved it. I guess after all of his pillaging and raping, he figured everything comes around.
Squeezing the trigger, Junior received a click. It was louder than a nuclear bomb at that moment, executioner and the damned stared at each other in stupefied amazement. The Colonel hadn’t received his just punishment. Guess it wasn’t time, according to The Screenwriter.
Junior pulled the trigger several more times. The only sound being a whooping chuckle from the man who was seconds ago about to die. Could Junior have really emptied his pistol during the battle? Maybe the blasts rendered the shells inert. No matter what, it had to be scripted.
“One day soon, I’ll be the one holding the pistol... And it won’t be empty.” With that, the madly laughing William Gillenwater bolted for the ragged opening in the fence, obviously, planning to return with reinforcements.
Dropping his pistol, the redneck lifted a Bowie knife from a sheath on his belt. With no time to waste, he started chasing after The Colonel.
Junior normally wouldn’t have a problem catching up with anyone, but after being near to so many grenade detonation
s, running was nearly impossible. He was not gaining any ground, Junior also wasn’t losing any distance on The Colonel. Fairly physically fit, The Colonel felt he could get away. Time, though... time wore everyone down eventually.
I don’t see why none of us just got out of the fucking basement and went to chase the dude down. Wait a minute... Even easier, we could have just shot him! We were just so entranced watching a concussed Grizzly Adams chase down Colonel Sanders, we couldn’t leave our seats. The Dictator was about to get away and we just watched like helpless moviegoers. The Oracle smiled right before the tide turned in Junior’s favor.
Feeling victorious, The Colonel laughed over his shoulder at the stumbling bumpkin. “Today is clearly not your day. The likes of you can never best The New Southern Order!”
Junior drew up all his strength and threw the knife straight at his enemy. The blade would have dug into his upper shoulder, but The Dictator slumped ever so slightly so he remained unscathed. It was still pretty close; the damn blade sliced his suit.
Mr. Gillenwater looked back to chuckle again at Junior as he continued to run. Unnoticed by The Colonel, the knife somehow did a flip in the air and sank into a rotten tree hilt first. The blade was now protruding straight out at eye level. It looked as if it was prepared by a film crew.
Belatedly, I noticed The Oracle out of the corner of my eye, making a flipping motion with his fingers. There was no way I could tear my eyes from the scene before me, not able to take in what had to be Smokes performing a miracle. Just as creepy as when he pushed me over back at Joseph A Davidson Correctional Facility, saving my father from a sniper bullet in Guntersville hundreds of miles away. How can he possibly change events when he’s nowhere close to the action? Moments like this make me substantiate nothing bad can happen to me as long as I’m with him. Well, I’ll forget that realization as soon as I’m uncomfortable.
The Dictator couldn’t see in the dark, but the area seemed to be lit up from our perspective. He turned to look forward once more just as he ran into a tree; a tree that just so happened to have a fucking knife sticking out of it. I’m pretty sure his death was instantaneous. It was so quick; he probably didn’t even see the blade or feel the pain... Damn.
The Bowie split the bridge of his nose, right between the eyes. It passed through bone and cartilage with no resistance, sliding deep into the brain casing and everything it held. Junior froze, unable to continue as he was given a surprise victory. Some noob just got owned.
The Colonel went slack, his full weight hanging on the blade sticking out of his face. His body started sliding off, blood oozing with each millimeter. It finally fell onto its back, crimson flowing freely from the gash, staining the immaculate suit. His suit was now ruined.
How the hell could Junior throw a knife like that? The few times I’ve tried to throw a fucking football, you can bet your ass I don’t even come close to a spiral. Of course, Easy could throw a damn basketball and it would be considered spiral. I guess I’m just completely inept at everything that requires physical exertion.
Before turning to make a solemn walk back to the house, Junior spoke to the cooling body. “If you could have just let us live, we would have let y’all keep to yer own. Now you gonna answer to somebody bigger than me.” I’m betting this redneck’s a libertarian.
Sharon Jean—a full-figured woman, just as hickish, but not as hairy as her husband, rushed out of the basement. She spread her arms and ran at Junior, completely ignoring her dying and pleading relatives bleeding on the ground beside the M1. Of course, I wouldn’t be going out there to offer anything myself. I just assumed that she would be a more selfless person than the scrooge I am.
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The couple eventually joined the Cora crew and the remainder of our cannibal allies to clean-up the battle scene. Every single living person and revenant from The Colonel’s company of marauders were now truly dead. The peevies had been completely obliterated. Only the occasional dismembered limb or scattered piece of blue flesh could be recognized as remains. I’m sure Junior was disappointed he wouldn’t be getting a full meal out of this.
After a while, the group began tending to the wounded. It was surprising they hadn’t all fucking died as we drug our asses, not immediately caring for the critically injured. Some would be crippled and horribly maimed for the rest of their lives, but we were able to save a few. Compassionate caregivers!
I guess the women of those lost will need to be taken care of and have dozens more children. Who could possibly take care of that? Junior? Don’t even start; I know some of them are definitely his cousins. I’m trying not to think about it. And now it’s at the front of my mind, making me cringe. Thanks for making me assume that you would assume I was okay with incest before you even found this Journal. No matter what Aka would say, I’m really not a pervert. Honest!
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“Well, thanks for helping us get that settled. Reckon y’all are headed back to yer boat.” Thankfully, he didn’t bring up giving his kids a damn tour.
I shook his hand. “Yeah, we need to get on. We gotta get to Columbus.” At least in the south, whenever you want to leave, that’s what you tell your host. “I gotta get on.”
Sharon Jean began fiercely hugging the female crewmembers like they had grown close over the last few hours. The sun was still an incredibly long way from rising. Now that William Gillenwater had been dealt with, apparently it was safe to loafer after dark. We sure as hell didn’t have to worry about any wild peevies. Besides, following such a climactic battle, are the characters of any movie faced with chaos soon after?
Before I turned to lead the crew off the property, Junior called. “Y’all wanna take some leftovers?”
Uh... Fuck... And no... About to refuse, I was cut off before sound could leave my mouth. Could you guess which crew member would accept proffered food from cannibals? “Y’all got any of dat cornbread left, cuz?”
I whispered my scream. “Good God man. No!” There was no way in hell I would eat that stuff. They probably greased the pan in fucking peevie fat. Shit! I just remembered I did eat it. Fuck!
With a shake of his head, Junior broke the heart of my overweight companion. “Nope, sorry. We got some steak left, though.”
My eyes widened when Smokes surprised me. “I thank I’m a pass. Thanks fo da cookin’.”
It was a relief I didn’t have to carry cooked people until we got out of sight of these strange new allies. At that point, I was sure I would have to convince The Oracle to throw the tainted food into the woods. Would religious Jews feel guilty when their neighbor offers them a ham? A deeper question, would Jewish people see peevie meat as unclean?
As I hoofed it out of there, the redneck shouted. “Y’all should stop back by if y’all are ever down this way!”
Even if I actually planned to come here ever again, my Southern rearing wouldn’t allow me to ignore hospitality. I had to respond. “Of course, man. Take care!” We exchanged waves before moving out of sight. If, for some reason, I had the misfortune of winding up in this area again, I would be sure to bring my own damn food.
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Now, we travel on; one step closer to Columbus. At that point, my brother and his fellowship will part from us. Not on a quest for the One Ring. Remember, he’ll abandon his wife to retrieve football memorabilia, leaving her with his peeping Tom sibling.
I’m not sure where we will pick Easy up after he, his paraplegic partner, and the Phantoms get out of Tuscaloosa. We probably need to look over the map and decide on our meeting place. Winging it doesn’t seem like the best option here. But it’s always worked out for me before!
I guess we just keep on keeping on then. We can completely forget we ran across a group of benevolent cannibals, a New World Order hopeful, and all those lost during our short stay. Thank The Screenwriter none of the losses were among our group. Even more, so that the good guys won.
The Cora crew didn’t leave any way of communicating with our new frien
ds, no directions to our original port, and quite a few questions unanswered. I don’t plan on ever running into any of these people again. Guaranteed, this will all be a distant memory soon. This entire trip will have absolutely no returning characters of any kind; because we’ve never experienced anything like that before. Yea that was sarcasm.
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And I just wanted to make one final note before ending this entry. The basement we were safely hidden in during the horrific battle with The Colonel, had some kind of slick security system with a large bank of screens. There were obviously cameras with night vision stationed all over the place, giving us a front-row seat to everything that happened. It was pretty high-tech for a bunch of cannibal rednecks. I just reread what I wrote and it did sound like we could see shit we wouldn’t have been able to see. Just pointing that out. I win!
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66
Forever
Target and followers nearby. They carry fire sticks, but otherwise unprotected. Striking would be foolish and futile. Must wait.
Though it seemed fruitless and extremely time-consuming, the peevie formerly known as Warden Slice was dedicated to the hunt. It might seem like countless cycles, but consuming Ezekiel Collins would be completely worth it. Even just a bite would make up for all this tiresome stalking.
This one will wait forever!
To Be Continued
Excerpt From Book 8:
Zombie Crusade
Without making any conscious decision, the entire group moved north. It wasn’t understood why. The point of existence was feeding and procreating. Something, though, brought them together and steered them in this direction. The objective would be achieved, eventually, whatever that goal may have been.
