by Bonds, Javan
Though none should find it surprising, they had been fucking like rabbits. Old don’t mean dead Mortimer laughed to himself. He had been having more fun in the past few days than he could ever remember having. The couple hadn’t even covered much ground because they had been busy with other activities!
Margaret told him of how she had been a singer in Nashville. Never made it into the big time, but she had a set of pipes on her. She had the most angelic voice the geriatric ever heard. He was happy to listen to her sing, and talk, all day.
“I was in the airport the day everything went down. The TSA guys tried to keep order for a while. Of course, that didn’t work out for them. I guess people aren’t willing to be bossed around when there are no more rules. Before everything could go to hell, a few National Guard soldiers showed up. One of the guys that were trapped at the airport with the rest of us turned out to be one of those crazy prepper guys.” Mortimer kept his foot to the floor as they sped down the mostly empty highway.
She noticed as they passed a sign. “Welcome to Tennessee.”
“The survivalist dude was going out to Yosemite, or something. He had a backpack full of solar-powered lights and heirloom seeds. The soldiers decided those would be great for anyone that wanted to stay at the airport. They promised to keep order and protect us as long as we treated one another fairly. A couple of the TSA guys pitched a fit and thought they should be in charge. The guardsmen won that argument. The TSA dumbasses got mad and left. That was in the first week. We never saw them again after that.”
The old man chuckled, thinking about those government morons dying horribly. She continued until she ended with “And then I walked out to your truck, and we drove away.” How many times had he listened to this story? It could be repeated a thousand times, and he would love it every time she told it.
☠☠☠
After a few more counties of pastureland and woods, they started getting into suburbs and urban wastelands. Nashville? Chattanooga? Mortimer didn’t remember seeing any signs giving an indication of where they were. Wherever there was, they appeared to be on the wrong side of the tracks.
From the looks of this disaster of a metropolis, there didn’t appear to be a right side. They began passing people moving out of the street. Uninfected humans were wearing clothes and everything! All the dismal souls in view kept their eyes down and seemed to force themselves to the next task. They appeared to be working, but definitely not because they wanted to be. Were these subjects? The few that did glance up all but cowered away from anyone with the gall to keep their eyes forward.
These people have to be subjugated under some sort of tyrant! Mortimer could only imagine what type of warlord reigned over these poor slaves. It was too late to turn around now, he realized. The senior just hoped to make it all the way through this ghetto without being noticed.
☠☠☠
What seemed like days went by. The couple never thought they would get their truck out of the urban maze. Every turn took them deeper into this inner-city slum. People seemed to fill the street as they walked to wherever they were going. All kept their heads down. Mortimer made sure to set his eyes on any that were brave enough to look up, just to appear that he had some authority. He propped his rifle on the seat and tried to look intimidating.
While trying to keep a scowl on his face, he mumbled to Margaret. “I think we’re almost out. Have you seen anyone armed? Or carrying themselves like they have some power?”
“Not one. Where are we, anyway?”
He spoke harshly to her. “Fuck if I know.” Mortimer instantly realized who he was speaking to and softened his tone. “I’m not sure. Maybe we can figure it out when we get out of here.”
The mass of dingy laborers gradually began dissipating. The old man sped up. A few more blocks and they would be able to see fully around them as the cityscape was giving way to residential sprawl. Coming to an intersection before the last couple of buildings, something large and dark slammed into the driver side of the four-wheel-drive. Metal groaned, glass shattered, and tires exploded. Mortimer could hear the woman that had stolen his heart in the last few days scream. Then everything went BLACK.
☠☠☠
4
Mo Journal Entry 1
IF YOU HAVEN’T realized it yet, I’m not going to update my journal every day when absolutely nothing worth mentioning happens. It’s strange; I almost missed the days of being practically murdered or infected. You can ask anyone that has ever spent any time around me; I’m one of the laziest and most boring individuals in existence. It’s incredible that I had friends before the shit hit the fan. I’d rather stay at home on a Friday night, than go out to party and socialize.
I guess I’ve grown accustomed to the looming threat of constant death in the past few weeks. It has me almost itching to do something stupid. Not that I’ve had any reason to question or doubt the gospel of Smokes, but I’ve been so bored. It would be difficult to call me a fervent believer so I guess that makes me a backslider.
We came to yet another dam. I assumed it was going to be just as damn dull as every other damn lock and damn dam we had been through, dammit. There was absolutely no way to tell our exact location, this was just another nondescript block of concrete in the water. Yes, I know I could’ve simply read the fucking signs, but that’s too much trouble.
Desperately yearning for some action as you probably expected, I’m now going to bitch and complain about what I’d been seeking. I want what I want until I have it damn it.
Not that I remember being involved in the discussion, but apparently the entire crew decided that we would randomly choose a pair of bodyguards to accompany Aka at each dam, or lock opening. My name had come up for this particular outing. It’s impossible to understand why the hell I was even included as a protector candidate for the only person that could get us off the fucking river. I was the worst choice, what with my less than satisfactory marksmanship skills and my zero wrestling championship awards. Shouldn’t Easy and Bradley automatically volunteer every time we come to another hurdle? If they truly wanted to get home or anywhere else ever again, you’d think they would want to keep her as safe as possible. Plus, you know, Aka is my brother’s wife and all. Yeah, I know Bradley’s in a wheelchair and dams probably aren’t ADA compliant. But I’m sure he could work around it.
I guess it’s like “Ex-Heroes,” even though they have a flying superhero that is immune to the zombie virus, regular people still go out and risk death to salvage. By the way, I’ve had time to listen to some of Smokes’s audiobooks on this journey. That just shows there needs to be fairness between the superhumans and the rest of us normal people. I should thank Peter Clines for proving that my surviving companions are not the only ones with brain damage.
It needs to be asked. How are these random names chosen? I’ve never pulled a straw or guessed a number. Maybe it’s like The Lottery, everyone’s name gets thrown into a hat, and two people are picked at random, to die horribly.
On this day, I had been slated to be a human shield for my sister-in-law, and God saw fit to partner me, with Gene. Seriously, I believe this is punishment for not being ambitious enough throughout my life pre-peevie. I could’ve been partnered with bodybuilders like my brother or The Old Friend, a super soldier like The Expert, or even ninjas like the Phantoms.
I’m automatically excluding The Man of God from this drawing because while he probably would be more useful than either me or The Tech, he’s old and we need somebody to pray for us. Smokes gets a get out of jail free card because I’m sure his lazy, fat ass has developed some medical excuse as a reason why he needs to stay on the boat and be worthless. Crow wouldn’t be in the drawing because screaming at peevies won’t make them cower and go away. Even if The Love Interest volunteered to help because she didn’t want this guaranteed disaster of a trip to be a complete failure, I would ultimately refuse to let her go. Because, you know, I’m a man... with muscles and shit. I wouldn’t let my woman risk her l
ife for an undoubtedly fruitless cause.
Of course, nothing’s easy for me. I get stuck with an asthmatic who jumps when someone fires a .22! Apparently, the other crew members had a meeting without me. “Hey, we could use at least one responsible bodyguard to defend our only way out of here. But fuck logic and clarity, those are attributes of the sane. Let’s choose the guys that are more likely to shoot themselves by accident than to save the only dam technician, Dammit!”
☠☠☠
“Yeah, it kinda looks like it. But fuck if I know.” I agreed with the Ebony beauty. It did look like someone had been in this powerhouse recently.
The three of us had made it through the interior of the dam. We went up a metal staircase, down a hallway that was concrete block on either side with a grated metal floor, and into a room that I would ignorantly call a reactor room. It was the room with all the buttons in other words. If claxons start blaring, and Scottie’s pudgy ass runs out here shouting “I'm givn’ ‘er all she got cap'n!” I'm going to slap somebody.
From out in the powerhouse and basically everywhere else there were footprints in the light dust. Though we were unable to determine if bare feet or shoes left them, we hadn’t been attacked, nor seen anything moving thankfully. You’d think that peevies would have smelled us before we got this far into the complex. They should have heard us clanking across the metal gangways and stairs, or heard Gene wheezing from the pure exertion of walking. This whole trip was getting boring, where were the damn peevies?
Aka pressed some buttons in the reactor room and the power began blinking on. She was now supposed to open one side, allow the ship to pass through the lock, close the lock, raise or lower the water level depending on location, open the second lock, and finally wait for the ship to radio a successful pass. Well, some locks only have one door. It’s boring as shit and takes an extremely long time to complete the entire task. I’m not going to walk you through the process every time it happens. Just know that if something went wrong and I somehow survived I would tell you about it.
My sister-in-law’s radio sounded. “Iron Man here. We are good to go and waiting for your return, Storm. Over and out.”
My dad would probably shed a tear. My brother is apparently, his father’s son. I have to ask, Iron Man? Storm? I know Easy knows who those superheroes are. Everyone watches movies. But I would’ve expected my extremely muscular sibling to use a radio call sign like the name of a protein powder shake, or a brand of weights or something. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he used the call sign tap-out. Regardless, I was going to have to tell Gene to stop giving my brother comic books. Nerd rage is another obstacle I can live without in the apocalypse, thanks.
☠☠☠
Our task was complete and we had been entirely unmolested, thank God. Of course, that wasn’t going to last long. For some strange reason, I unselfishly offered to take point, and let The Tech guard Aka’s rear. Yeah, I would much rather have been back there myself, it was the better view after all. Confidently depending on this Cylon armor to protect me, I casually walked down the metal stairs, not even carrying my gun at the ready. Nonchalance; eat your heart out.
Just as I came to the ground from the metal stairwell almost directly below my companions, I began hearing the animal howls of the undead. I shouted up to the others somewhere still above me.
The man in the Brotherhood of Steel armor extended his claws and reached for his shotgun in acknowledgment. My unarmored sister-in-law drew her dual 9 mm XD pistols as they moved forward. A nude and slobbering granny fell out of a door a few yards in front of Aka. The monster was directly above me while my two compatriots were down the hall.
Rather than paying attention to easily accessible food, the monster chose to focus on the physically closest human, me. It had no chance of breaking through the floor and I could do nothing but watch as the animal uselessly clawed at the grated metal between us. I was unable to shoot the blue creature, transfixed on the wild animal-like ferocity of the peevie. After what felt like hours of watching it try to rip through the floor, The Tech blasted the rabid cannibal with his Mass Effect Eviscerator or Borderlands Carnage shotgun. Gene constantly switched between the two names for his boomstick. Honestly, I think it had to be the Carnage shotgun. That would explain why the monster basically exploded.
I continued to look straight up as the newly liquefied body parts ran through the grate and directly onto me. Thank God for the body condom and the helmet I was wearing. Otherwise, I would now be blue and pants-less because I was unable to do anything but keep my gaze fixed on the recently butchered slab of dripping meat above me. I had to make sure every possible drop of peevie plopped down, and into, every tiny opening of the armor. I’m amazed I had no paper cuts or ripped cuticles that would allow the infection to seep into my body.
Because the Cylon suit couldn’t be watertight, I was basically marinating in former human juice from that point on. “Really, Gene? You could’ve let her put a couple rounds in it instead of dumping a peevie purée on me! I look like I'm cosplaying a human afterbirth!”
He winced. “Sorry! Hey, at least you won’t get infected if you are wearing the under armor correctly.” He made it sound as if I couldn’t do anything correctly. My reply was a raised middle finger in his direction whether he could see it or not.
I slowly crept forward while my companions caught up with me from upstairs. Gene was slashing while Aka was blowing holes through peevies all the way. I only caught glimpses of the action above in between taking pot shots at peevies and actually using my hands to lift my fucking legs.
Have you ever walked through knee-deep mud, while wearing boots? If so, now imagine your boots were metal and you have a clear picture of the difficulty I had in taking steps. Just picture the soupy, wet slop weighing you down from the inside of your boots. I was literally on the verge of vomiting or passing out at each chunky slosh. The whole thing felt like the final challenge for The Fear Factor, and my biggest fear was swimming through a kiddie pool of diarrhea lovingly offered up after a five-alarm chili contest.
In high school, I enjoyed going to the lab and cutting up a frog in biology. I wouldn’t consider myself a germaphobe, or even to have a weak stomach. But soaking in juices, of what used to be a person, would turn championship gastrointestinal fortitude to jello.
I looked up to see Aka unloading both pistols into what seems like an uncountable mass of undead. The power-armored knight pounded buckshot into the mass of sickly, and emaciated blue bodies as they moved forward. With both of them looking behind, my sister-in-law didn’t see this small zombie coming from an open door in front of them. I knew the moment I saw what was happening, they wouldn’t be able to hear my yelling over the insane amount of gunfire.
I lifted my rifle and fired, sparking against graded metal. I wasn’t really trying to hit the thing; I know I’m a shitty shot. I was trying to get Aka’s attention and it obviously worked. She turned, to see what used to be a child, or an extremely old former human, almost within biting distance.
She screamed at The Tech and dropped. He stopped firing, stood and spun on his heel. He brought one clawed fist around and sliced through the throat and chest of the small beast. It fell back, choking and gurgling as it took its last few breaths.
My amigos caught up with me after decimating almost the entirety of the naked horde that had appeared behind them. I feel proud of myself, having hit, and at least wounding several peevies coming my way before my backup arrived. Things quieted as we trekked up and out of this concrete tomb.
I’m unsure why I didn’t simply stop and empty out some of the cooling chunky people soup from my suit of armor. We still had the occasional insane nudist running in our direction, so I suppose I felt safer in my personal crock-pot of goop. Our trio made it outside and I forced myself to push on, to the waiting Cora.
I was guessing that my painfully slow pace appeared as a leisurely trot to those that hadn’t witnessed my traumatizing experience. The cook started to
throw the rope ladder over the side like she always did. I protested, sounding as if I had just finished a marathon. “Don’t you dare throw that fucking thing down here, you sumbitch.”
Sitting on a bench, emptying my boots of the zombie inside-out stew, Crow’s shrill reply came down. “The fuck you say, white boy? Maybe I just leave your pale ass on the ground!”
She was about to walk away and force me to radio an adult, but Aka used her feminine charms to convince Crow to lower the gangplank. She relented and I was satisfied. I was over-encumbered by so much water weight that I was going to have to get down to nothing but my boxer briefs and socks before I made my way onto the ship.
Once on board, I hurried straight down to where I took the longest and the most cleansing shower of my life. With the steaming water running, I was confident no one could hear my disgusted sobs and body racking wretches. If I live to be a hundred years old and see a therapist every single day, I will still cry, and possibly become violently ill when talking about the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me. Wait. Never mind. If I had to choose, I think I’d rather be basted in body parts AGAIN.
☠☠☠
5
Into the Wild
MAYOR RANDY COLLINS had been feeling cooped up in the county courthouse in Guntersville. His eldest, Elmo “Mo” Collins, and the entire crew of the Viva Ancora were traveling down the river and wouldn't be back for some time. The mayor’s other, and Mo would argue his favorite son, Ezekiel “Easy” Collins, was accompanying Mo on this trip. Easy would have been invaluable in the reconstruction efforts of their society. His absence could be tolerated, but only because it greatly increased the chances of Mo’s own survival and return with the alleged cure.
Dr. Philip George, the Indian cardiologist turned out to be more than just a doctor. He was also a deep cover agent with the NSG Phantom HITs –compared to a U.S. Navy SEAL, Russian Spetsnaz or Delta Force team, those boys were their country’s cream of the crop. The Medicine Man had recently informed Randy and the other survivors of a doctor stranded somewhere in the Caribbean. This European specialist radioed that he supposedly had a cure for the infection that had rapidly overtaken the world.
