by Bonds, Javan
“And then, we’re all standing in the hallway waiting for Landers to finish pissing in the bathroom when we hear a gunshot...” My cousin was telling the assembled crew of this journey to Guntersville.
Apparently, this is some type of family reunion. I’m surprised Bob wasn’t there because he adds so much to a conversation. And I know Bob isn’t technically family, he’s pretty close though, being one of the only people from The Similar, my parent’s group.
Easy nodded when he saw me. “He’s here now. What were you telling us about Columbus?”
My cousin began. “Well, Columbus Air Force Base is probably less than a mile from the Tenn-Tom. You’ll know where to stop because there’s a bright yellow motorboat docked at a little pier directly north of the base. You can’t miss it. If you get off there and walk in a straight line, there’s no way you will miss the place.”
Thanks, Benji! I don’t know how I’d ever travel in a direct southern route without your guidance. It’s nearly painful when I realized my entire family treats me like one of those guys that almost drown in the bathtub when he was a baby and ends up living with his mother until she dies from old age. Maybe he was giving simplistic instructions because there were going to be women accompanying us on our journey. You know? Because they’re horrible with directions! Yeah, I just went there.
I looked at my brother stupidly. “Why?”
He mentally face palmed as if this had already been explained. “Tell Mo why we need to go to Columbus.”
He held the radio out to me as if an extra arm length would make an idiot like me understand. Benji spoke through the radio after a sigh. “There’s a Hercules on the tarmac loaded with ammo. We just took a small amount of 5.56. There should be more than enough rounds to last you for the rest of your trip to the ocean.”
I was glad about that, raiding shitty little pawn shops for insignificant amounts of ammo is the opposite of fun. He made sure to add, “Oh, and we clipped the cargo net before we left.” It’s a good thing he explained that. I would’ve thought someone else broke into a plane after the zombie apocalypse and snapped the safety net when they left.
Does ammunition not get weathered by the elements? I mean, he’s talking like he just left the fucking door open. Spiders could've gotten in there. Oh shit, I better not mention that to Easy! Whether they’re there or not, he’ll see spiders and end up screaming like a girl before balling up into the fetal position. I’m not going to say it wouldn’t freak the shit out of me to have a hairy tarantula crawling up my arm, but he nearly goes into cardiac arrest when there’s a garden spider on the other side of the room!
My dad sounded. “So y’all have any trouble with your last few locks in Alabama?”
A few of the crew looked at me and lightly chuckled before I returned. “Nah. Piece of cake.” I paused for a second before another thought came to me. “Oh! How’s everything going with the gentle giant?” Yes, I knew before I said it that my dad wouldn’t get the joke. The nickname for Michael Brown? Please tell me you got that.
My mother was within hearing distance. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it with others in the vicinity. He hesitated and quickly spoke. “Uh, a pair of twin girls. Yesterday.”
It was clear that subject wasn’t to be discussed at this very moment. We just got blown off by my dad!
“Benji has been going out in some of the smaller planes and rescuing survivors.”
I cut him off before he could go on. “Isn’t there some kind of helicopter plant or something at the Albertville Airport?”
He responded like he hadn't completely forgotten there was an airport in Albertville. “Yeah. We need to see if we can find a chopper. That will make landings a lot easier.”
Daddy broke away from the radio. After several seconds, he again spoke. “Benji has already been there. Recovered a Seahawk and attempted a rescue with it.” Well, not everyone with my last name is completely worthless. Just the ones named Elmo.
He realized our allotted radio time was drawing to a close before any of the crew did. “Well, I figure it’s about time for bed. Let me know how the next few dams go.” Sure we will if we are not all blue and pants-less.
“Roger. Ironman. Over and out.” I’m guessing my dad fist pumped at even more unneeded proof that Easy was the good son.
You know, I just realized my mother didn’t say “I love you” to me. Shit, I didn’t even get to speak to her! She probably had a personal conversation with every member of the crew before I got up here. But God forbid if she’s going to come back into the room an acknowledge one of her offspring. I could only be killed by this time tomorrow. I’m thankful my family is so loving.
☠☠☠
21
Mo Journal Entry 7
TODAY WAS A strange one, the entire crew did nothing. Well, besides the usual chores of living on a wooden sailboat, fishing for survival, and avoiding sinking the ship.
This was one of the few days no one had been tasked to enter the dark and musk-smelling tomb of a dam. It was boring not to constantly be in the shit, under the threat of constant death. Most of my day was spent performing the grueling task of finishing up the last season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD with Gene. After that we gathered on the deck for a bountiful feast of fresh, unseasoned fish, with a side of fresh, unseasoned fish. Thank God for ketchup.
The entire crew sat around the table. Everyone was having their own little conversations in groups of two or three. The Expert looked over to the medicine man. “Hey Doc, I was scouting the other night and saw a Tango spear fishing. Is that normal?”
What the fucking hell? She witnessed a mighty mental evolutionary leap in wild animals and it just slipped her mind for a few days? Compare it to Neil Armstrong running into a damn chimpanzee on his lunar expedition. The primate is wearing a spacesuit made by The Planet of the Apes government; he has a conversation with this primate. Armstrong waits until he gets back to earth and a week later he casually mentions it to the NASA scientists. “Oh, I ran into a super intelligent monkey on the moon. I thought you guys should know about it.”
Jesus Christ, I know she’s been in denial since the beginning that the peevies are not actually sick people but are instead terrorists or KGB agents, but this is just willful ignorance. How can you see that an animal is self-aware enough to hunt with tools and still treat it as a communist spy seeking to bring down capitalism? It’s nearly as breathtakingly stupid as the idea of democratic socialism. She can plainly see that they are blue, naked, mindlessly craving human flesh, and have shiny yellow eyes. I find it amazing that she can deny the infected are anything other than former humans turned into Hollywood monsters that really want to eat you.
It feels like we have been on the river a century or two, I couldn’t tell you right now what the exact date is. Hammer’s definition of scouting most nights since the beginning of our journey down the river has been to sit inside a hunting blind on the deck, watching the peevies onshore through her night vision monocular. I sure am glad we don’t have to draw straws for that arduous task. There’s no way I could handle sitting and doing nothing for hours.
I wanted to ask a list of questions. “Was it able to see you? Did it actually catch any fish? Was the spear just a sharpened stick?” There were a million queries that came to mind. I could do nothing more than drop my head. I was dumbfounded that we were being watched over by a woman who thought zombies didn’t exist.
The doctor held his chin in a typical pose. He finally mused, “I have never seen this particular action, but I knew things like this were likely to happen in the evolution of the infected. I’m sure we will see more human-like actions from the afflicted in the future.”
I thought about standing and yelling or running to my room in tears but was too stupefied to make a move. Holy shit! When they start sprouting wings and fucking swimming he will probably laugh. “Oh, well I expected that.”
The crew began growing quiet as the conversation continued. I felt that
I needed to insert myself into it before I started giggling or crying. “What else can you tell us about them, Doc?”
I could see others around the table nod as if they were thinking the same thing. He stood to put us all through Peevie 101. “Well, some of you may know the infection does affect areas of the brain, but actually settles in the cardiovascular muscle. It acts as nearly every disease, or virus, or plague before it; its primary goal is to spread. No one knows if the infected are actually attempting to kill and eat when they bite a human or if they are just simply transferring the infection in the easiest, most animalistic way. Once the infection travels through the frontal lobe and cerebral cortex, it makes its way into the left ventricle and constricts the atrium. This creates...”
“It’s like heart disease?” Brother Williamson interrupted. He bumped his fist against his chest. “I got that.”
The Medicine Man politely chuckled. “Something like that, but I wouldn’t...“
My jock brother inserted himself into the questioning. “Does that mean there’s a cure? We can just give them heart medication?”
The cardiologist’s sighed. “I wish it were that simple. None of my tests have given any positive signs of reversal in the infected.”
Easy came back. “But you said we are going to get a cure. Didn’t you?”
“A supposed cure.” Dr. George responded using air quotes. “But even if this cure actually completely reverses the sickness, I guarantee that it is more complex than a simple beta blocker.”
Mr. Clean nodded and seemed satisfied with his answer. I continued the questioning. “Why did they start coming out during the daylight?”
The physician shook his head. “I am not an ophthalmologist, but it appears their pupils were dilated before and they somehow rapidly evolved and constricted.” He added at my raised eyebrows, “And no, I have absolutely no clue what caused this evolutionary jump.”
The Oracle had been smiling and knowingly nodding at each revelation. You could just make our lives easier and tell us this shit instead of making us wait for thoughts to randomly come to our deranged senior citizen’s mind.
The Old Friend spoke up from the other side of The Love Interest. “So what’s next?”
Sitting next to Sarah, I was trying to get her to talk to me. After forcing her on this journey, she originally refused to even acknowledge me. I had made myself seem pitiful enough in the past few weeks so at least she had to admit that I existed. Holy shit, I’m on a roll! Maybe I can bite my tongue or something and force myself to cry, she might feel bad enough to talk to me. I can one day see myself again having regular sexual relations with my girlfriend. This whole zombie apocalypse thing kind of killed off most of my competition. She can’t just leave me for all those other eligible guys. Is it wrong to see some good in the death of the entire world?
The Oracle screamed at me from his seat at the table. “Cracka, watchoo thank bout corporeal punishment?”
I slowly turn from Sarah, confident I had misheard him. I expected a hint of a smile. Upon finding genuine curiosity I jokingly replied. “I guess you’d go incorporeal on their asses!”
I began chuckling. My laughter soon faded when no sound came from my large friend. I could feel his “go to hell” stare boring through me as he bellowed. “Mufucka, corporeal!”
After his second mispronunciation, I was absolutely positive he was using the wrong word. “Dude, you mean corporal. You only use corporeal when you’re talking about ghosts and shit.”
He visibly reddened with anger and embarrassment. “You mufuckin’ white cock gobbler. Dat what I said!”
It wasn’t worth arguing about something so trivial. But I couldn't simply ignore his error after hearing it twice. “No you didn’t. I know what I heard.”
He shot up from his seat faster than I thought possible, tipping the chair. He stuck a meaty finger in my face. “You sayin’ you can’t undastand my gramma? You sayin’ it ’cause I’s black.” He gasped as if just coming to a shocking realization. “You racist!”
I remained silent, unsure how to defend myself from this ridiculous accusation. Nearly this exact scene has played out dozens of times since May, usually ending in my epic failure to make myself look like anything other than David Duke. Now I feel like a racist just for knowing who that is!
My eyes cut away from the man about to have a heart attack to my opposite side. There sat The Love Interest and The Old Friend on her other side, quietly scooting away from me, looking anywhere but in my direction. I turned back to glance around Smokes, noticing that the ebony and ivory couple in the two seats behind him had also moved away. This clearly told me I was on my own for this battle.
I am a white guy from rural Alabama. I have been accused of being a bigot countless times in my life. It’s beyond understanding why I cannot realize that there’s no fucking point in trying to argue against it. Of course I don’t hate anyone because of skin color, but I cannot win this argument.
Rather than document my white, slave owning ass being verbally handed to me, let me give some advice to all white people that get into this predicament. Don’t try to defend yourself, just apologize and ask forgiveness.
I suppose an alternative would be to simply get off subject and try to distract your accuser. See? I’m saying that black people are easily distracted. Damn, I can’t win.
Even I would accuse me of having the fourteen words tattooed on my back for that one. Jesus, just for knowing that the phrase exists, Smokes would tell me I’m probably going to name my first child after George Lincoln Rockwell. Holy shit, I’m on a Jim Crow ROLL!
☠☠☠
22
Suspicion
THE PHANTOMS WERE Indian NSG commandos accompanying Dr. Philip George on his mission in America. He had been sent to uncover and prevent a bioengineered virus from sweeping across the country and perhaps the world. This objective had been laid down without much hope of success. It was expected to fail, so the cardiologist wasn’t too downtrodden when the sickness struck hundreds of miles from his position.
Since unveiling himself as a Phantom HIT to the local Americans, he made contact with his team. The doctor had heard rumors of the location of a cure for this pandemic. He and two of The Phantoms, Kumar Jindal and Sanjay Patel, had begun a journey to the ocean. Mahatma Doshi and Rajesh Mattu remained on the island of Guntersville to protect and serve wherever they could.
They were backed up by a growing local police force and the former U.S. Army soldiers that swore allegiance to Guntersville the day The Villain was defeated. They were finally able to relax. Keeping their home country from being overtaken by the infection had been their top priority since before May Day. Once the government believed India was basically secure, the HITs had been tasked with joining their commander, Dr. George, in Alabama.
Once the team decided the supposed cure would have to be sought, they all agreed two commandos should remain on the island to provide support and keep order. Keeping it hadn't been difficult among orderly people working together to survive. A bright dawn was peeking over the horizon in this new world. Civilian law enforcement was capable of dealing with most every need of the Islanders. Mahatma and Rajesh were able to take a back seat.
With several kidnappings as of recent The Phantoms had been part of the larger investigation. Though not trained detectives, they were more than happy to help find missing children. Today, as many days previous, they joined with Hirotoro Sako. The trio was to search coastal buildings on the mainland to look for clues on the whereabouts of the lost youngsters.
All The Phantoms wore Clone Trooper armor, accented on the helmet, shoulders, gauntlets, and greaves with a different color. They may have all appeared similar in and out of the suits, but at least the color gave them individuality. Kumar was accented with blue, Mahatma’s armor had a hint of black, Rajesh was identified by green, and Sanjay sported the color red. When first trying on the armor, Gene wanted to call them Billy, Zach, Tommy, and Jason respectively. He knew
they wouldn’t catch the Power Rangers reference.
Though they did wear The Tech’s suits of armor, all four Clone Troopers carried traditional Asian Indian melee weapons they had brought from home. Unlike anything in Gene’s collection these strange looking blades made the HITS stand out and would make anyone think twice before attacking.
Mahatma, the black Ranger– Trooper, wielded a bhuj. The bhuj was a fixed blade on a long shaft. This is why it was commonly called an axe knife. Measuring 10 inches long, the recurved blade was single edged with a pointed, double-sided tip. The knob at the end of the metal haft was stylized as an elephant head. This knob could be unscrewed to reveal a small but deadly stiletto type blade.
Rajesh was equipped with his family’s trishula. It was a weapon similar to a trident, with three prongs, handed down through generations. One major difference was that each of the three points were bladed. This pain dealing tool was not only made to stab but was intended to slice its enemy to ribbons. With a shaft of six feet, Mattu would be able to eviscerate his adversaries from a distance.
☠☠☠
Standing behind the mounted .50 cal, Rajesh remained at ease and watched Islanders casually walking within their safe zone. His fellow Phantom, Mahatma, sat behind the wheel of the Humvee. They were accompanied by Hirotoro Sako. This local policeman was Okinawan by birth, though he had spent most of his life in America. Having lived in Marshall County for years, he was nearly native. The man instructed them to call him Toro, but the HITs would never be able to call him anything besides Staff Sergeant Sako.
The former Marine had been a survivalist before the diarrhea hit the blue fan. People told him his preparations were a fruitless waste of time and money. Being a prepper finally paid off. After those naysayers became naked monsters that ate raw meat and shit in the woods, Sako just smiled.
Hirotoro was outfitted in the garb of Rorschach. Some might not recognize the unwavering patriot that was a favorite from The Watchmen. Wearing a thick trench coat, leather gloves, a Fedora, and carrying the obligatory blotted mask in his pocket, he was an investigator. The fact that he was once a detective in the police force only fortified this embodiment. His goal was to find clues that would lead to the discovery of the displaced children. Or at least, Sako realized the discovery of what happened to them.
