'Til Death Do Us Part zf-6

by Mark Tufo

  “That Mad Jack guy caught the kitchen on fire. No, no it wasn’t that bad,” Tony added when he saw alarm on Tracy’s face.

  “Do you want some tea?” Nancy, Ronnie’s wife, asked Tracy as she came into the living room.

  Tracy shook her head. “No thank you.”

  “It’s very soothing. It will help to calm your nerves,” Nancy added.

  “I’m fine, Nancy,” Tracy said almost through clenched teeth, apparently Ron had told Nancy and hadn’t thought to tell her not to say anything around Tony.

  “I’m sure you really need it.” Nancy said soothingly.

  Tony was closely watching the exchange.

  “If I want some tea Nancy I’ll come and get some.”

  “You poor thing,” Nancy said, tears welling up in her eyes.

  “What’s the matter? I may be an old man, but I’m not daft. I’ve been watching everyone tippie-toe around for the last day. Something is going on and they think the patriarch can’t handle it,” Tony said angrily.

  Tracy swallowed heavily. “Tony, I thought Mike might be dead yesterday, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Tony paled rapidly, color slowly drained back into the void as he processed Tracy’s whole sentence. “What changed?” he asked slowly and cautiously.

  “I know this sounds crazy…” She started as she quickly looked over to Nancy. “Henry. Henry changed. I know how strange that sounds, but Henry sensed something yesterday and now he seems to be back to the way he was before. Expectant. He’s waiting for his Mike to come home.”

  Tony was scratching the top of his head; a gesture Tracy had noticed Mike do when he was having trouble wrapping his mind around something. “So Henry told you Mike died and has now been what? Reborn?”

  “I...I can’t explain it completely, Tony. That damn dog and Mike share something. Henry knew, absolutely knew something bad had happened to Mike and now something incredible has.”

  “So you believe in your heart of hearts that Mike is alright?” Tony asked, now tears threatening the man’s visage.

  “I do,” she said through the tears. Because I want to, she thought. Because the alternative would be unbearable.

  “I think I need to make more tea,” Nancy said, running out of the room.

  It was a half hour later when the entire group found themselves sitting on the deck at the Talbot compound: Tony with Carol, Tracy’s mom they had become something sort of an item although they denied it to everyone that asked. Ron, Nancy, their children—Meredith, Melissa, and Mark. Tracy, with Nicole, Justin and Travis. Mad Jack, who seemed perturbed that he had been disturbed from his work. There was Angel, Sty, and Angel’s brother Ryan and Dizz from the gas station in Massachusetts. Perla, who had been Jack O’Donnell’s fiancée, she had yet to pull completely out of her stupor upon his loss. And Cindy Martell, Brian Wamsley’s significant other.

  “Something’s changed,” Ron said to the group. Except for Justin, he was the only one standing. “We can all almost feel it in the air.”

  “It’s heavy,” Perla said with her head hung low. Cindy wrapped her arms around her friend.

  “All the more reason I should still be working,” Mad Jack said more to himself than the group.

  “In due time, MJ,” Ron said. “We had good reason to believe that Michael died yesterday.” Even MJ who was usually off in his own world responded with a gasp. Cries of ‘are you sure?’ and ‘I can’t believe it!’ were all dominated by one small girl,

  “The funny man is dead?” she asked, then she started to cry uncontrollably.

  “Oh, honey,” Nancy said, pulling the small girl to her.

  “Okay…hold on,” Ron said, putting his hands up. “We’re now not so sure,” he said quickly glancing over to Tracy.

  “What about Brian?” Cindy asked with concern. If Mike had been in danger, then it only followed that they all had been.

  “We...we don’t know,” Tracy answered.

  “Have they radioed in and you’re not telling us?” Cindy asked as she stood.

  “No, we haven’t heard anything in days,” Ron said, giving back-up to Tracy.

  “Then how or why would you think something happened to Mike?” Cindy asked.

  Henry picked that opportune moment to saunter onto the deck and lay down in the middle of the throng.

  “Him.” Tracy pointed to the dog.

  “Him?” Cindy sneered. “You scare the shit out of all of us on something the dog did? Did he come out and tell you Mike was dead…oh and then miraculously he was reborn like Jesus Christ!” she shrieked.

  “Listen, we’re all a little stressed out right now, I just wanted to get everyone together to—” Ron was cut off.

  “Don’t you give me that stressed out bullshit,” Cindy was screaming. “My fiancé is out there and I don’t know if he’s dead or alive or worse. The sitting here not knowing, what do you know about stress?”

  Ron was straining to hold back his own anger. “I still have a daughter out there, or did you forget that. I know all too well the pain of loss. If you someday have a child, I hope to God that you NEVER experience the pain I suffer every fucking minute of every fucking day.”

  Nancy was full on crying. “Anybody want some tea?” she asked, not waiting for an answer as she exited the room hastily.

  “I’m so sorry.” Cindy said as the heated wind fell from her sails. “You’re right we’re all stressed.”

  Ron waited a moment to make sure that Cindy wouldn’t flare up again. “Listen, I’m not one for spirituality, superstition, supernatural or paranormal, that’s just not the way I was raised and it’s not part of my belief system. And now that I’ve got that quantifier out of the way, I truly believe something happened to Mike…and for whatever reason, he’s back. Mike’s resurrection means something and it means something big. I’ve got to believe he’s heading here.”

  “And so is the shit storm,” Travis said.

  “No swearing,” Tracy told him absently.

  “This is still all conjecture though right?” Perla asked. She was afraid.

  “Yes,” Ron said, “no matter what the truth, or what we are feeling, I think that we need to be prepared sooner rather than later and that we need to redouble our efforts no matter what they may be. From gathering or storing food, to setting up our defenses, to the hundred other things we need to have done to survive an all out attack. And I want to double up on guard duty.” That brought a fresh round of moans. “Except for Mad Jack, Nicole, and Angel…we’ll all be taking extra shifts.”

  “I can guard!” Angel said defiantly.

  “I know, honey, but you already have a job,” Tracy told her.

  “I take care of the aminals, pretty lady!” she said proudly.

  “And Henry loves you for it,” Tracy told her. She looked over to Justin and noticed he was rubbing at his wound where the zombie had scratched him. He was trying to be sly, but it looked like it was itching him something fierce. Her heart froze when it looked like storm clouds swept across his vision. Mike, wherever you are, hurry up, she thought.

  “I can take an extra shift, Uncle Ronny,” Nicole said sleepily. She wasn’t quite showing yet but her energy level had dropped considerably.

  “No, you need your rest and Mad Jack needs to finish his devices,” Ron told her.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Mad Jack asked, finally realizing he was supposed to be interacting with others.

  “I’m pregnant,” Nicole laughed.

  “How’d that happen?” Mad Jack asked.

  “Did he really just ask that?” Travis asked his mother.

  Mad Jack’s face flushed. “Sorry, you might want to stay away from my stuff while I’m doing experiments.”

  “Is it dangerous?” Nicole asked, clutching her midsection.

  “It shouldn’t be, but no sense in risking it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I’m going to lie back down,” Nicole told the crowd.

  “I’ll check on you in a litt
le while, honey,” Tracy told her.

  “Is she going to start waddling soon?” Travis asked.

  “I heard that, baby brother.” Nicole shouted.

  “Alright, let’s get back to work. What ever Mike has going on, I’m sure it’s important and we should be ready for him,” Ron said before dismissing the group.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mike Journal Entry 5

  “Oh, man, pass me a joint,” I told John as I sat up. “I don’t know which hurts more, my body from sleeping on the ground or my head from the acid and beer.”

  “You should have slept on a cot,” John said, looking down at me from his Army-Navy surplus green canvas cot.

  “I didn’t know I had the option,” I told him. I didn’t know how long I had slept, but it was long enough that I was no longer tripping and that was fine by me.

  “You should have asked,” he said as he swung his legs over and reached into a little bag to produce a pre-spun joint.

  “John, how would I know to ask? Should I just randomly throw questions out there and see which ones stick?”

  John’s eyebrows were knitted together as he thought on my words.

  “Okay…for instance, do you have a helicopter?” I asked him.

  “Of course.”

  “Wait, what? Are you kidding me?”

  “Why would I do that? Kid, I mean. I have a Safari two-seater kit helicopter.”

  “Okay I’m going to try and hit the pertinent points all in one shot. First, does it work?”

  “Yup.”

  “Second, can you fly it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Wait…real quick…so you don’t have a license to drive your van, but you have whatever license it takes to fly a helicopter?”

  “A lot more people on the roadways than in the air,” he answered.

  “Got me there. On to the bonus round where the right answers are worth double.”

  “Excellent I love the bonus round,” John said excitedly. “So how many points are we talking about?”

  “The sky’s the limit!” I said, going along with his madness.

  He paused for a moment. “I get it! Because it flies!”

  “That’ll work, hey, John the Tripper, can I shorten your name up to Trip?”

  “Is this still the bonus round?”

  “Added bonus maybe.”

  John’s lip started to quiver a bit.

  “You alright, man?” I asked him.

  “That’s what my wife calls me. I miss her, man.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad feelings.”

  “Naw, it’s cool,” he told me. “You can call me Trip, it helps me to remember.”

  “She’s not really in Washington is she, Trip?”

  “No.” He buried his face in his hands. “It’s worse.”

  “We’ve all lost people we love, Trip. There’s no shame in showing it,” I said, standing so that I could rub his shoulder.

  “She’s in Philly,” he sobbed.

  “Trip, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “My wife, she’s not in Washington she’s in Philly.” His wails started anew.

  “I’m confused, man,” I told him.

  “The City of Brotherly Love, how can you not know about it?”

  “I know about Philly, and I’m not sure why that’s such bad news. It’s actually good because she’s that much closer.”

  “She is? I figured Philly was another country, you know ‘PA’ for Panama.”

  “It’s more like ‘PA’ for Pennsylvania.” I hastily drew a rough representation of the United States and the states in question. John’s face was beginning to register the new information. I desperately wanted to get home, but his wife was not entirely out of the way and I would feel better if he had company. I shuddered thinking of him stopping to ask some ‘funkies’ for directions.

  “Want to go get her?”

  “More than anything, followed closely by seeing Jerry Garcia.”

  I didn’t tell him that our odds were better of seeing Jerry than his wife. “Let’s do it then, back to the helicopter.”

  “Bonus round,” he sniffed.

  “Bonus round,” I echoed. “Can we get to it, or is it in Philly or D.C., too?” I asked, trying for some levity.

  “Asheville Regional Airport, it’s about twenty-five miles from here.”

  “So not Philly then, that’s good.”

  “What’d I win?” he asked expectantly.

  “An all expenses paid trip to Rocky’s hometown.”

  “The squirrel?”

  “What? No not Rocky and Bullwinkle. Rocky the boxer.”

  John was slowly shaking his head from side to side.

  “Sylvester Stallone, famous series of movies.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “How about the home of the Cheesesteak?”

  “Who puts cheese on a steak?”

  “You’re killing me. The City of Brotherly love, man, we’re going to go get your wife.”

  “Wow, that’s awesome! What a great prize to win!” he said, clapping his hands.

  I had to admit, it was nice to not be the craziest person in a group, but I wasn’t really sure what footing that left us on…if any. “We’re going to need another car. Any chance you got one waiting somewhere?”

  “No, and it’s not much fun going out the other side.”

  “So that hole does lead out then?” I asked, pointing to the other side of the cavern.

  “It longer and narrower than the one we came in from.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” But I already knew the answer. John wasn’t much of a kidder. Right now, asking the ‘funkies’ to move seemed like a better option. “Maybe we could widen it,” I said.

  “It’s carved through rock, that one’s natural.”

  I was already starting to breathe heavily and we weren’t even in the damn thing yet. “Trip, I don’t know. I have this thing about tight places.”

  “It’s just like being born.” He smiled.

  “I don’t remember what it was like to be born, Trip.”

  “You don’t? I thought everyone did. Well it’s just like it! No sense in thinking about it… you ready?”

  “Not fucking really,” I said, starting to work on a world class panic attack.

  “It’ll be fun,” he said as he went over to a large plastic storage bin. He pulled out a small drum-shaped container.

  At first I couldn’t register what he was doing; my legs were bobbing up and down so fast I couldn’t focus on anything. Then he started to grab big handfuls of the white substance and starting at his tin foil hat, began to apply liberal amounts over his whole body.

  “Can you get my back?” John asked me.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Lard, it simulates the fluids in the placenta.”

  “I think you’re taking this a little too far,” I told him.

  “First time I went through there I almost got stuck. As it was, it took me four hours to get through. It goes by a lot quicker with the lard.”

  “Trip, I can’t be in that hole for four hours! I’m bigger than you, how am I going to fit? Just go, get your wife, I’ll stay here until the zombies leave and go back up through the cabin.”

  “That’s probably a good idea.”

  Relief flowed through my system, but co-mingled with it was despair. I would be alone.

  “Let’s have one last lunch together,” John said as he wiped his hands clean of the heavy lubricant and dipped back into his storage bin; he grabbed a couple of MRE’s and some chemical packets to heat them up. Within a few minutes, my packet of corned beef and hash was piping hot. I grabbed the closed (and sealed) packet from him before he had a chance to open it.

  “If you don’t stir it around some it of stays cold.” He said as he popped a soda and handed it to me.

  “I’ll do it,” I said with a shudder, his hands getting entirely too close to my food, even if t
here was nuclear safe material between him and the sustenance. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grabbed his food, stirred it around, and began to eat heartily.

  There was a comfort to the food, not in the taste mind you, that was more like rat stew, but it was the breaking of bread with a friend.

  “Want some hot sauce?” he asked.

  “No, I’m almost done.”

  “Good stuff?”

  “Edible,” I answered honestly. “I’m going to miss you, John the Tripper.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that too much.” John took longer than normal to eat his meal, almost savoring every morsel; even stopping for long moments to examine his Spork.

  “Man, I’m tired.” I yawned.

  “I bet,” John said. “Want some crackers?” he asked, splitting the packet open.

  “No, and why would you bet that?”

  “Valiums have that effect on people.”

  “What?” I tried to ask with excitement, but I just couldn’t get enough adrenaline flowing.

  “I put a few in your pop.”

  “Dude, you have got to stop drugging me without at least taking me out for dinner,” I said sleepily.

  He grabbed my now empty can and shook it in front of my face.

  “Right,” I replied. “So now what?”

  “I’m going to wait until the pills kick in completely, then I’m going to take off that awesome poncho you’ve got and cover you in lard, then I’m going to drag you through the birth canal,” he said as he popped a handful of crackers into his mouth.

  “I’m scared, Trip,” I admitted.

  “No need to be, yet. Wait until we’re in the helicopter…then you’ll have good reason.”

  “Fucking swell,” I told him.

  We sat there a few more minutes as he poured a mini bottle of Tabasco over the last couple of crackers and washed them down with some red Kool-Aid-looking drink.

  “Wouldn’t that be awesome if the Kool-Aid man just came and knocked a hole in the wall for us?” I asked John, looking longingly at the spot I sincerely hoped that would happen.

  “Does this Kool-Aid man have anything to do with Rocky Stallone?” John asked.