by Mark Tufo
“Don’t take your hat off…not ever,” he said, then the corners of his eyes crinkled up from his infectious smile. “Want a beer?”
“Sure do.”
“Well let’s go, the cooler is in the van.”
When’d he do that? I thought, “Well that’s one benefit of the zombie apocalypse…drunk driving isn’t a crime anymore.”
At some point, John was no longer next to me but had opened the door to his van and was now seated comfortably in the back seat. I walked over and was about to get into the driver’s seat when I noticed he wasn’t shutting his door.
“You want me to get that?” I asked, looking at him through the rearview mirror. He looked up at me with a startled expression.
“Get what?”
“Right,” I said as I got back out and slid his door closed. I shut my door, the dome light went out and the garage suddenly seemed darker by significant degrees since we had started this endeavor. The ash that had been sifting through the numerous structural holes now looked as if it was being pumped in. We were in serious danger of death by smoke inhalation and I had suddenly become fascinated by all the numbers and letters on the dials of the VW’s dashboard.
John tapped lightly on my shoulder with a beer, it brought me back. “Thanks,” I told him. It was a cold Old Milwaukee in a can, not necessarily my favorite. But I had adopted a new beer credo for the end of times: my new favorite beers were, first, free ones, and secondly, cold ones. John had fulfilled both of those obligations. I popped the tab and was amazed at the feeling of the carbonated bubbles as they bounced off my nose and adhered to the remainder of my moustache and goatee. That first pull of that disgusting beer might as well have been nectar flown down to earth by the gods themselves. I was momentarily in Heaven right up until zombies began to break into John’s house.
“Party crashers,” John laughed as he pointed behind him. Zombies were at the entrance to John’s garage. “Must have left the door unlocked. I do that a lot.”
“Shit,” I said, praying that when I turned the key in the ignition the van would start; but that would only solve one problem. I truly didn’t think that the zombies would be so kind as to open the garage door for me.
The van rocked as the first of our uninvited ‘guests’ slammed into the side. The van started as John had promised, and it sounded good, but was about as useless as tits on a turtle if we couldn’t get out of the garage. Then I busted out laughing over my crappy quip. I mean to the point where my stomach was cramping, the muscles on the side of my face that controlled smiling were in agony because I was smiling so long and so hard, tears were rolling down my face. To compound it, zombies were at my window, biting and gnashing at the glass which just seemed like the funniest fucking thing on the planet at the moment. Somewhere deep, deep down inside, I knew I was in a world of trouble. Weird thing about it was that I just didn’t care.
It had been a long time since I had been able to just let loose, and I guess when you’re faced with your imminent demise, that’s as good a time as any.
“You see his mug?” I said, tears still streaming as I pointed to the nearest zombie. I looked into the rearview mirror and immediately sobered up—if only for a moment. John was playing with something, much like someone else I had loved had been doing so long ago, felt like about forty years, but in reality was only about six months previous.
“What do you have there?” I asked John
John was busy sweeping his hand back and forth. I couldn’t tell because the zombies were so loud crashing into things, but I think John was even making airplane noises.
“John the Tripper!” I yelled.
He stopped mid-flight.
“What do you have there, buddy?”
“Who the hell is ‘Buddy’ and this is a garage door opener that I am pretending is the plane that took me to San Francisco back in ‘69 to catch the Dead.
My excitement was short-lived as I realized that, without power, the opener was better off as the toy plane…and then the garage door rumbled open. I didn’t give a shit how, I dropped the transmission into drive and headed out. I had to go over the lawn to avoid a small contingent of zombies in the driveway.
“Don’t hit her azaleas or she’ll have a cow. Ran over them once with my Segway. She was pissed for twelve years, three months, and a day-and-a-half.”
“So it took her that first part of a half day, twelve years, and three months later to get over it?” I asked. He said it so seriously that I could not doubt how long she was mad; the Segway part though was a little tough to swallow.
“And a day,” he answered as he shrugged his shoulders.
“How’d the garage door open, John?” I asked.
He looked up again then past the mirror to the window outside. His hand immediately flew up to his head where he touched the tin foil hat and became comforted. “When’d we get outside?”
“Oh boy,” I said as I did a curb check bouncing the front passenger side wheel off of a curb. I had been so busying studying John’s expressions, and then I had been distracted by a particularly interesting smudge on the small mirror—it looked to be a cross of a young Elvis with a touch of Jamie Lee Curtis thrown in there. Can’t explain it, it’s just what I saw at the time. I nearly rear-ended Johnson’s propane truck—I knew the name from the foot high lettering on the rear—but pulled the wheel far enough to avoid that fun little disaster in the making.
“Where we going?” John asked.
“Out of the city first, then we’ll decide. I don’t think where I want to go is the same place as you,” I said, thinking that he was going to want to hook up with his Stephanie. I hoped that wouldn’t be the case. First off, because I’d lose my ride. And second, I kind of liked the crazy bastard even if he did dose my ass without me knowing. Setting him loose in this world was the same as signing his death certificate, and I didn’t think I’d be able to do that with a clear conscience.
If I had just pointed the damn van north and gone towards home I most likely would have caught up to Gary, BT, and the bitch. There were a couple of plusses to our detour and some minuses.
CHAPTER NINE
Tomas and Eliza
“This reminds me of Northern France during World War One,” Eliza said as the city burned around them. She had a faraway look in her eye as if lost in nostalgia.
“I had been following you, Eliza, you were in California around that time.”
“Do not presume, brother, to think that I did not realize you were slinking around. I let you know where I was, but I would roam the world just to walk among the damned. Almost as an angel of mercy,” she mused. “I put vast numbers of their like out of their misery.”
“They should have nominated you for sainthood,” Tomas said as they strolled down the street, zombies streaming past them heading to wherever they thought they could find a meal.
Eliza stopped for a moment. “That sounded very Michael Talbot-like, maybe you have more of him in you then you realize.”
“I wish,” was Tomas’ reply.
“Tomas, I grow weary of your fondness for the humans. You are no more human than this thing,” Eliza said as she grabbed the nearest zombie, picked him up, and thrust it headfirst into the pavement. Its head ruptured from the impact. Tomas turned away.
“You care for nothing, Eliza.”
“That, Tomas, is an untruth. I care very deeply for myself and quite possibly a small amount for you. I have not yet decided on that matter.”
“I just wanted us to be back together.”
“Back in that hell hole you called home?” she spat. “I don’t know what fondness you remember about that cesspool in time, but I harbor no such feelings. Father selling me to pay for food may have been the best thing that ever happened in my life. I got away from him, and I was given the chance to live as an immortal. Humanity will pay for all that they have bestowed upon me.”
“You’re delusional, sister, these people you hunt down have done nothing to you.”
<
br /> “I did not create this plague.”
“Yes, but you are taking advantage of it.”
“Isn’t that the ‘human’ thing to do?” She smiled.
“You know what I meant.” Tomas stopped. He heard a noise off in the distance that sounded out of the ordinary with the cries for help and small explosions that happened from time to time.
“Someone is making an escape attempt,” Eliza said as she heard the same sound. The car was heading away from their present location. “It is of little matter,” Eliza continued as the sound faded away. “The world grows smaller, and its inhabitants fewer still, we will cross paths eventually, and if it is any of Talbot’s hardy followers…we will meet sooner rather than later. It does rather smell like our childhood home though, doesn’t it?” Eliza asked, turning her head up to catch a smell of the smoke.
“And after we destroy the Talbots…what then, Eliza?”
Eliza stopped mid stride. “You said ‘we’, brother. When we destroy the Talbots. I think I might have felt a surge of pride for you. Of course, this could still be some sort of ploy on your part, but just too hear the words issued from your mouth gave me a moment of pause.”
Tomas smiled wanly.
“Well perhaps, brother, we will celebrate and go on holiday. Visit the pyramids of Giza or the Coliseum in Rome.”
“Do you know how to pilot a boat or a plane, Eliza? These humans you are so hell bent on destroying were the true rulers of the planet. You were merely a walking nightmare that stole their dreams.”
“Who is in charge now?” she screamed. “While they try to save their pathetic little lives, hiding from everything that goes bump in the day or night, I walk openly in the city streets afraid of nothing or nobody!”
“Yes, you are Lord of all you survey.”
“Careful, brother, I don’t really need you. I find great solace within myself. You are merely at times a distraction.”
Tomas’ face fell.
Another wicked grin came over Eliza’s face. “Tomas, what don’t you understand? You once knew me for twelve brief years. I am mid-way through my sixth century on this world, I’ve changed. I’m not that frightened little girl that father did those vile things to, I am that nightmare you speak of and I have gained a foothold in the waking world. I will not be swayed from my decision to rule the pathetic survivors and to use them as I see fit. I am having fun at this point, the humans will adapt…they always do. They breed like the livestock they are. Those we do not kill today will huddle in the dark and fornicate, making more of their kind. If the Great Black Plague and two World Wars could not curb their existence, than neither will this new plague or myself.”
“I curse father for what he did to you and now I curse him for what he didn’t do.”
“And what exactly is that, Tomas?”
“He should have killed you. In retrospect, that probably would have been the best thing, and you and I would be long dead and buried, together again in the afterlife.”
“There you go again with your God. Have you not learned he cares not for his woe begotten children? Look around you, is that not proof enough?” she asked as she turned completely around in the middle of the road with her arms outstretched.
CHAPTER TEN
BT, Gary & Mrs. Deneaux
“Would you mind if I drove?” BT asked.
“Have you seen the size of you? You can carry this thing if you want to,” Gary told him.
“No…seriously, I haven’t driven in a very long time. Without any traffic on the roadway I should be alright.”
“Well doesn’t that just make me feel all confident in your abilities,” Mrs. Deneaux said. She was silent for a moment as she cocked her head.
Gary pulled over to the shoulder, BT got out to walk around the car as Gary scooted across the seats.
“Do you hear that?” she asked from the back seat, as they got rolling again with BT at the helm.
BT couldn’t hear anything over the churning of the Pinto’s engine. Gary rolled down his window and stuck his head out much like an over eager Golden retriever; so much so, BT felt the need to grab Gary’s jeans by the waist line.
“I’m not going to fall out,” Gary told him.
“Not now you’re not,” BT told him, with one hand on the wheel. “This car is all over the road. Driving this thing is like the Flight of the Bumblebee.”
“BT, you have culture?” Deneaux asked.
“I don’t get it?” Gary asked as he pulled his head in.
“It’s part of an opera,” BT explained.
“Like the rock opera Tommy from The Who?” Gary asked.
“Something like that,” BT answered.
Deneaux scoffed.
BT glanced up into the rearview mirror, mostly wishing he hadn’t. “Motorcycles.”
Gary stuck his head out the window nearly as far as he had the first time. “Coincidence?” Gary asked coming back in.
“You do know you could have just turned around while inside the car and have seen them, right?” Deneaux asked cynically.
“What do you think?” BT asked Gary, ignoring Deneaux’s remark.
“Any chance this thing can go faster?” Gary asked, finally heeding Deneaux’s advice and looking through the rear windshield.
“I could probably push the pedal through the rusted-out floorboard, but I don’t know if that would make it go any faster. Plus, if the CV joints in the front end are gone and I go any faster, we hit a bump and we’ll catch air…then we’ll be screwed,” BT said.
“I think we already are,” Gary said, sitting back in his seat making sure that his rifle was fully loaded. “There’s seven of them.”
“I don’t remember seeing zombies in any of the Mad Max movies,” BT said grimly.
Gary looked over at his friend; Deneaux for once was silent not able to think up a retort.
“Mad Max.” BT said again as if that short statement would explain everything.
Gary shrugged his shoulders.
“Come on, man, it was a classic. A post-apocalyptic world? Had a shitload of car chase scenes with motorcycles?”
“Okay,” Gary said. “So?”
“There were no zombies in those movies is all I’m saying. How many dangers should we have to face on any given day? We’ve got zombies, vampires, rednecks and now a biker gang. Enough is enough already!” BT yelled as he slammed his fist down on the steering wheel.
The car pitched hard to the left.
“How about not breaking our ride,” Mrs. Deneaux snapped. “Our friends are getting closer.”
“You don’t say?” BT said sarcastically. “I figured at fifty miles per hour I’d be able to lose them.
“Really?” Gary asked. “How fast do motorcycles go?”
Deneaux rolled down her window. “It came down to you or Shortie, I wonder if I chose correctly.” She answered.
“We’re not entirely sure if they’re the bad guys,” Gary said hopefully. The timing was impeccable as his side view mirror blew apart into fragments.
“I guess that solves that dilemma,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she stuck her head out the window.
BT hoped a particularly large breeze would catch her and carry her out of the car. At least that was what he was thinking up until her first shot caught one of the rapidly approaching motorcyclists. The motorcycle’s front wheel violently cut back and forth until the bike flipped over itself, the rider skidded along the ground and was still. The remaining six, instead of backing off, came up even faster. Gunfire peppered the back of the small car.
Deneaux pulled her head in, a look of smug satisfaction across her features as she along with the other occupants in the car ducked down. Glass shattered, and the sound of metal being punctured dominated above all else.
“Isn’t the Pinto the car that used to catch on fire!” Gary yelled.
“They have automatic weapons!” Deneaux yelled. She had tried to poke her head up to get some shots off, but the suppressive fire from their pu
rsuers was too intense. They drove a few more miles like that. The rear end of the car had become so riddled with holes as to become nearly non-existent.
BT knew it was only a matter of time before bullets made their way into the car, then they’d go out much like the infamous Bonnie and Clyde—in a hail of bullets. He began searching for something, anything to help them out of their predicament. The gang was keeping a respectable distance of around twenty-five yards, but it would be sooner rather than later when they became emboldened enough to come alongside and finish them off.
“Hold on!” BT yelled, not really giving anyone enough time to prepare as he took a hard left, never slowing. The car screeched like a white trash woman who’d realized her man had just gotten another woman pregnant. If BT had not been fighting for their lives to hold the car onto the dirt roadway, he would have found great mirth in Deneaux’s futile efforts to pull herself away from her door. The car bounced and jostled, a loud twanging signaling the death throes of one or more of the rusted out leaf springs. The wheel whipped back and forth in BT’s hands; trees came dangerously close to ending the group’s forward momentum.
A large leafy branch struck Gary against the side of the face as he tried to pull back further into the car. Gunfire was still erupting from the bikers, but it had become more sporadic as they fell back, the choking dust of the dirt road having the desired effect. BT did not think the old Ford would be able to take much more of the pounding the surface offered, but his choices were limited at the moment.
“Take the next right!” Mrs. Deneaux shouted.
BT didn’t know how she could see anything from her vantage point but he did as she said.
“Now stop!” she practically shrieked.
BT thought she might have seen a tree up ahead, he laid on the brakes which, of all the mechanical things on the car, seemed the least likely to fail. The car came to an abrupt stop just as the roar of motorcycle engines was almost on top of them.
“What now?” Gary asked.
