by Bonds, Javan
Dr. George, Randy’s sons, and all the other main protagonists were headed down the Tennessee River and on to the coast on Mo’s replica pirate ship the Viva Ancora. They were hoping to retrieve either the doctor or the cure but preferably both. But radio communication had been severed with the doctor and the traveling band carrying the antidote. So the exact whereabouts of this claimed remedy were unknown.
The mayor was tired from the daily grind of governing their small population. Despite the numbers, the needs and demands of the community would weigh on any politician, steadfast or not. What's worse was dealing with the rumors promising of paradise. He enjoyed restructuring civilization, but he needed a break. Hunting had always been one of his leisure activities. Now, it was given as a task to provide for the survival of the community. Randy decided he would gladly pitch in by providing the island with some meat. He chuckled when thinking about it, and I will get to enjoy it. Contemplating the current circumstances in this post-apocalyptic hell they now lived in made him wish for simpler days again. I wish someone would find some hot Krispy Kreme donuts.
As the group traveled toward their hunting spot Randy took notice of the city that he and all of the survivors had taken to calling their home. The houses still unoccupied seemed lifeless and cold, waiting for someone to revive them from their slumber of the apocalypse that had befallen the world. The rest, however, have been given a new breath of life as it were. Their new residents had taken to decorating porches and window sills with potted plants and vegetables. Grass and weeds were beginning to become predictable and controllable again. With the livestock and the hunting bringing in meat, Randy felt he had some kind of control. At least on the surface, everyone was keeping it together.
☠☠☠
Arriving at their destination, Randy stepped from a procured SUV and began the trek to the green field. The accompanying civilians each carried: a long gun: .308, .22 long rifle, and a lever-action 30/30 were the most common. Pistols included popular calibers such as .45 and 9mm and at least one secondary .38 or smaller cartridge pistol/revolver. Some type of edged weapon was a must, preferably large hunting knives, sharpened garden tools, and even kitchen knives were prevalent personal protection after May Day. There was no need to make it mandatory, nearly every islander was armed at all times, even on the secured sanctuary where they would be hunting. With the stockpile of weapons found on scavenger runs and victories over recent transgressors, the island was feeling slightly gluttonous with their current arms selection. That being said, no one was going to let their guard down, when a peevie could possibly breach their points of entry.
The interim mayor was proud of his surviving community. Just what everybody needed, to begin with, a healthy case of prepper paranoia! The surviving population was just the kind of patriots America needed, Randy decided. At least, when there was an America.
The hunters had parked the truck a few hundred yards down the highway from the field where they planned to drop a few deer. Their green field was actually an empty parking lot with a bale of hay resting in the middle. State hunting laws prohibit hunting over bait or this time of the year. But since there is no state to speak of and food was needed to feed the growing population of Guntersville, there was a large pile of corn soaked in molasses on the bale. Deer are lazy and stupid when it comes to eating. Most wild animals now would much rather travel along cleared pathways like paved roads than trudge through thick forest. They enjoy staying in the open sunlight, especially now given that the woods were crawling with peevies. Makes sense to me. I would take my chances with the town folk over crazy, naked monsters ravaging the woods and copulating incessantly. Randy shuddered at the thought.
Though no longer nocturnal, the infected homo-sap-has-beens normally stayed out of direct sunlight. It was common, as of late, for most wild animals to stay just within the shade of the tree line, able to spring to the safety of light at any moment.
There was a ladder stand, and a simple, camouflage, pop-up blind positioned just in line with the hay bale. The fourth hunter would be tasked with looking for smaller game, like birds and rodents, or picking berries. The mayor didn’t even realize he had made the decision until the man started walking off alone.
Randy was glad that two of the men were equipped with shotguns. You’s always is at da place you is always post to be. The Oracle’s words flashed across his mind. It put him at peace to think things were ordered, predestined. Everything went according to plan. Even The Screenwriter’s overall grand design seemed undesirable at times for such insignificant characters, like the hunters who accompanied the mayor.
It was hard to understand at first, why there would be three hunters on one field. Why wouldn’t the people who earlier positioned the ladder stand put it in another field? Because it wouldn't be safe to leave a single man alone with no backup, Randy instantly realized.
We sure didn’t mind sending one man to the edge of the woods by himself. If it wasn’t supposed to happen, it wouldn’t have. We’ll all make it back like we always do. Or at least, he would believe. That had been a core belief for Randy, his entire life. Not just the belief in Smokes as The Oracle, but belief in the simple things; Small acts of kindness from strangers, a belief in morals, and the remnants of society.
It was funny how hunting gave you freedom from the worries in life, for however brief of a time, and yet somehow; it always found a way to create more. There were always things to notice, things to protect, problems to solve, and complaints to manage. Randy smiled; I wouldn't have it any other way.
As the mayor thought more about his lapse in judgment in sending a man out alone he began mentally kicking himself. Why didn’t we send two scavengers to the edge of the woods? He always believed in the buddy system and made sure to partner survivors as cover for one another if the need arose. But everything seems peaceful and quiet out here. There were squirrels, in the tree line, and deer grazing without apprehension. He smiled and was hoping the worst was over.
Maybe the peevies are dying out and we can finally relax and take it easy. The blast of a shotgun shattered the silence as well as his thoughts. It was followed shortly by a terrified scream coming from just over the hill. Randy let out a long sigh. He had been naïve in his hoping. He had heard that scream too many times before.
☠☠☠
Travis was picking blackberries from a thicket growing just outside of the tree line. The young man was somewhat apprehensive at first being given the task. He felt an impending doom the longer he stayed outside. There were no gnashing teeth coming at him thankfully. He wasn't aware of any yellow eyes watching his every move. The young survivor finally felt he could relax. He was actually starting to enjoy being outside; alone for the first time, since May Day.
It was standard procedure that everyone who traveled outside the city wore long sleeves and usually covered their hands in thick work gloves. This not only prevented peevie bites but his skin was protected from the thorns of the blackberry bush as well. I don’t guess we are all special enough to have superhero armor like the boss, Travis thought. But my flannel shirt and construction worker gloves do just fine.
Travis was thankful Mr. Collins had taken him in. He was honestly lost without his older brother to ask for help. May Day was the last time Travis even saw Hollis alive. Travis wasn’t an idiot and could fend for himself but his brother was all he had left in this world emotionally. He had been the only one around to keep Travis safe from the bad, foster families. At least it was only through Hollis’s sixteenth and seventeenth birthday. Once he turned eighteen, he adopted his little brother. Hollis then proceeded to use him as a crutch to keep from prospecting opportunities for the betterment of his own life.
Travis reached deep into a thick bush to grab one of the largest clumps of blackberries he had ever seen. Just as the berry picker picked this plump bunch of berries, a raving blunatic launched itself from within the blackberry bush before him. It grabbed at his forearms, but he successfully pulled away. Travis di
dn’t realize, he had made no noise to alert the others, and there was no backup coming. The only thing he could focus on now was pulling the 12 gauge from the scabbard on his back and putting this blue sumbitch down.
The terrified berry picker brought the muzzle of his scattergun around in the same instant, the animal latched onto his wrist. It began clawing at his glove and the sleeve of his shirt as it brought its sore-filled mouth down trying to find easy access to some bare skin. Travis pulled the trigger and blew the thing’s body away below the sternum, spraying blood, organs, and liquefied shit everywhere. The report from the blast happened to be quite muffled by the squishy internal organs surrounding the muzzle of the barrel. Congealed black blood popped like a filled water balloon all over Travis’ face. It might be pudding-like blood, regardless it was fucking gross. From an outside perspective, he looked like the bottom of a peevie den.
He did this at the exact moment its teeth cleared the edge of the glove. An impression was made of teeth marks; the puncture of the skin was so small, that no blood came forth. But either way, Travis knew.
Over three-fourths of the zombie’s destroyed body laid just within the bush. The juice from the smashed blackberries intermixed with the blood pouring from the open corpse. Travis stared transfixed at the mixing of berry pulp and peevie parts. It all amassed and congealed into a sick, organic Jackson Pollock. The creature was still alive for the briefest of moments. Travis understood that he was infected when the dying beast stopped attacking. The insatiable hunger for human flesh usually came before unbearable agony. Now that the monster could only writhe and scream, let him know without a shadow of a doubt; that he was infected. He could do nothing but wail in disgust at the realization that he too, would soon be no longer among the living.
☠☠☠
JB, the man positioned in the ladder stand, watched a big buck walk cautiously into the field. A large group of doe stood at the edge of the parking lot and watched for confirmation they could come feast. The twelve point buck sniffed and slowly looked around, making his way to the bounty of food in the middle of the field.
JB lined up a shot. The laser dot from his rifle let Randy and the shotgun-wielding Hunter know that this was his kill. They were welcome to take all of the females they wanted, but he called dibs on this trophy rack. Though it would gain him nothing more than bragging rights, bagging a monster buck was still an accomplishment in the eyes of most. Plus it would feed many people on the island.
The survivor attempted to steady his shaking finger on the trigger as the other deer took their time moving into the field. He was prepared. Just before he could drop at least 200 pounds of meat, a shotgun blast could be heard in the distance.
The massive twelve point buck stood still and looked back over his shoulder. A mournful, definitely human cry was heard just before the monster deer bolted from the serene scene. The entire herd scattered next. None of the hunters were willing to shoot at frantically moving game. It was nearly guaranteed the hunters would miss, or wind up only injuring the animal. Any hunter worth his salt has more respect for the animal than to have it die a slow painful death as it bled out in some hidden spot. Not to mention the risk of tracking a bleeding animal along with blue hungry monsters. Even peevies would definitely come out in the sunlight for slow, bleeding food.
☠☠☠
The three hunters, who had just been interrupted, ran to where they expected to find the fourth member of their quartet. Travis sat looking up at the sky from his position on the ground in the middle of a small valley. Pieces of bloody blue flesh lay strewn around him. JB and Scott remained at the top of the ridge while Randy jogged down to their sobbing companion.
He came within a few feet of the young man. “What’s wrong, son?”
Spittle flew from Travis’s mouth as tears flowed while he forced out the words, angry and disbelieving. “It got me. The mother fucker got me!”
The mayor moved close. He wasn’t going to tell the boy it couldn’t be a bite and everything would be okay. If someone was convinced they were bitten, they probably were. Before Randy could say anything, the young man jumped up and turned to him, extending his forearm. “See? It’s barely a fucking mark, but it’s enough!”
There was only one thing Randy could do. He embraced Travis in the most fatherly way possible, considering the plate armor. It couldn’t be made better. There was no way to fix it. The mayor barely held back his own tears. “At least you got it. Hollis would be proud. I know times have been tough, the best thing we can do now is believe in each other.
Travis looked over to the dead body and smiled. The mayor kept an arm over his shoulder and turned them both. “Well, let’s head back.”
☠☠☠
Scott, the second shotgun bearer went into a panic and threw up the muzzle of his long-gun pointing it at Travis. “What? Fuck. No!” He wasn’t going to allow what was now a god damn peevie near him and gestured with the gun. “Get away from it, Mayor Collins. I’m not letting this fucking zombie get anywhere near us!”
Randy looked to Scott without changing his position. “Son, he’s not a zombie. Think about it for a second. I have my arm over–” a shotgun blast finished the thought before Randy's vocal chords ever could.
Travis was dying. He didn’t feel bad yet, but he was dying all the same. Having survived this long, he wasn’t willing to be taken out by some idiot with an itchy trigger finger. Knowing he was infected, he had wanted to enjoy what little time he had left. Travis brought up the muzzle of his 12 gauge in a flash and sent a shell at the man pointing a shotgun at him. “I might’ve been dealt the shitty end of the stick while I’m alive, but I’ll choose how I go!”
Buckshot collided with Scott, ripping into his entire body. It looked like gallons of blood, muscle, and bone were exposed as he collapsed into a crying heap. Travis knew that being a murderer wouldn’t weigh on his conscience long. Scott would be dead sooner than he, himself.
The recently infected young man didn’t take into account JB being only feet away from the idiot he just dropped. Scott absorbed the majority of the shotgun pellets launched at him, but JB obviously received some of the spread.
The small balls of lead tore into the left side of JB’s torso. The pellets ruptured vital organs and a few even chipped between ribs to puncture one of his lungs. He gasped and sank to his knees as the shot painfully exited his lower back leaving a gaping bloody wound.
His body was weeping crimson.
JB tried to shout but could only strain out a whisper as he gasp for more air. “What… the… fuck… man?”
Travis was sincerely apologetic. “Shit! I’m sorry, bro. I was just trying to take out that stupid bastard before he shot me!”
JB was incredulous. If he survived, he would be severely maimed; at least crippled for the rest of his life. The young man’s left forearm was a pulpy mess of bruised meat and shattered bones. In a crazy lapse of sanity, Travis looked down to see a mass of spaghetti and meatballs where JB’s forearm once lay. Slowly the image shifted to the newly mutilated appendage. In his raging anger, JB raised the pistol from his hip and pointed it at Travis.
The two of them had never been close per se. They were simply local acquaintances, tasked together on missions for the island recently. Though he may have been angry, Travis didn’t actually plan on shooting the other man.
JB forced through the pain, “I’m a goner… because of you!.. I didn’t... really give a shit... about Scott... but you could... have at least... told him to... put down the gun.” His aim was growing visibly shakier by the moment.
Travis didn’t like that all the guns had been pointed at him today! “I said I was sorry. Stop pointing guns at me!” He began leveling his shotgun at the now kneeling JB.
JB’s head was spinning from lack of blood and oxygen. The man who had shot him was pointing a gun at him again! JB panicked and started squeezing the trigger, sending multiple rounds at Travis.
Travis took rounds in the shoulders, che
st, and a bullet in the center of his throat. Travis couldn’t be certain what was ruptured; only that something vital had been irreparably damaged.
If he collapsed to the ground he wasn’t expecting The Mayor or any of the survivors to waste time and resources to try and save him. This was it. He wouldn’t even get his final eight hours as a human. Death was coming quickly now, swift and painful.
Before he blacked out from lack of oxygen, Travis let out a gurgled scream, through the blood and the pain. It was the only thing he could before a shell exploded from the end of his gun.
“You too!”
By the will of The Screenwriter, the spread on Travis’s shotgun appeared to be tighter for this shot. Just a few would have been fatal to JB but it seemed like more pellets than could've possibly been in that shell peppered the front of his body. Holes were ripped into his abdomen, his chest was punctured, and his head was riddled. JB’s upper body was minced by what seemed like millions of pieces of burning lead. The leaking blood from the holes in his cranium made it clear that he was dead before his body hit the ground.
Travis turned to Mayor Collins and smiled. It was a strange feeling, he felt victorious over humans who had only a few minutes ago been comrades. Randy’s arm was still around Travis’s neck when the young man sank to his knees.
One final thought coursed through Travis’ head, “These woods are lovely, dark, and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” His brother's faded tattooed skin shined once more in the fading light of his memory. Hollis always loved Robert Frost. With that the lights in Travis's eyes extinguished.
