Mort: Deluxe Illustrated Edition (The Fearlanders)

by Joseph Duncan

  Mort wasn’t surprised, but he was happy. He was still on cloud nine from the night before. He and Dao-ming had made love half the night. She’d done things to him he was too embarrassed to ask a woman to do, even in his fantasies. He was not quite as ecstatic as Dongmei, but only because he was worried about protecting the two women.

  Pete tried to act as if he didn’t care one way or the other, but he was not very good at hiding his emotions. He was jealous of Mort and Dao-ming’s fast rapport, and exasperated by Dongmei’s clumsy romantic overtures.

  After breakfast, the four of them cleared the table and tried to come up with an escape plan. Mort believed the safest course of action would be the most straightforward one, and Dao-ming agreed. They would load up the Mercedes with as many supplies and weapons as they could fit in it and drive out of town together, with Dao-ming behind the wheel. She was, after all, a professional driver. They would take just the one car so there was no chance of getting split up, and they would head straight for the countryside, no stops to search for supplies or survival gear. Dao-ming assured them she knew at least two routes that would get them out of the city successfully. She had studied a map of DuChamp, and had been checking out the conditions of the streets whenever she went on a supply run, just in case she and her sister needed to bug out. She had made it all the way to the outskirts of town on two occasions before returning home.

  They retrieved the street map her father kept in his office and unfolded it on the dining room table. “This is the safest route I’ve found so far,” she said, tracing the proposed course with a yellow highlighter. “There’s a big wreck here at the intersection of 27th and Green, but you can get around it by driving on the sidewalk. Lots of, uh, deadheads here-- by the mall-- but I think I can weave through them without too much difficulty. It’s a seven lane highway. Plenty of room to maneuver. And they’re not as thick as they were at the start of the outbreak.”

  “Sounds like a pretty solid plan to me,” Mort said finally, standing straight. He hesitated when his three companions looked at him, feeling self-conscious, then forced himself to plunge on: “However, I think we all need to understand just how dangerous this is going to be. I think it’s safe to say this is an all or nothing, uh, thing. If we stay here, where it’s safe, and the power plant blows, we’re going to get cooked by radiation. But if we do this, try to get out of town, we could get surrounded by zombies, or run into another group of survivors. Maybe aggressive ones. Heck, we might even have a flat tire. If any of those things happen, our gooses are cooked.”

  Eyes wide, Dao-ming kissed her little sister’s head.

  “You’re a regular ray of sunshine this morning, aren’t you?” Pete guffawed.

  “I have no doubts about Dao-ming’s driving skills,” Mort declared. “I trust her behind the wheel without reservation. I’m just worried about Murphy’s Law.”

  “Murphy’s Law?” Dongmei asked.

  “If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong,” Pete said. Dongmei blinked at him gravely and Pete shrugged.

  “The two biggest dangers we’re going to face if we try to drive out of town are blocked streets, or hitting zombies with the car and wrecking it,” Mort said grimly. “The roads are littered with crashed and abandoned vehicles, and the deadheads run right into the path of moving vehicles. They’re like kamikazes.”

  “We’ll make it,” Dao-ming said confidently.

  Mort looked into her eyes. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “We will. We’ll make it.”

  “If we do make it out of DuChamp in one piece, which way should we travel?” Pete asked.

  “Northwest, I think,” Mort answered. “It’s not very heavily populated once you get past the suburbs. Mostly just open country.” He smiled at his companions. “My gramma used to live out there,” he explained.

  “We should probably stay away from the interstate altogether,” Mort went on. “There will probably be more pileups on the highways than on county roads. More zombies, too. There’s also more of a chance of meeting military or survivalists on the interstates. We don’t want to get into a shootout with some crazy rednecks or run across a bunch of nervous soldiers with itchy trigger fingers.” Mort put his finger to his lower lip. “Let’s see. What else…? Oh! We need to avoid bridges as much as possible, too. We don’t want to get stuck in the middle of a bridge with a bunch of zombies beating on the car windows and no way to turn around.”

  “Agreed,” Dao-ming said.

  “So I guess we find us a nice deserted farm somewheres and set up our own little hippy commune,” Pete snorted. “I spent eighteen years tryin’ to get out of Mayberry.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” Mort asked.

  He wasn’t challenging his friend. He was really asking.

  Pete shrugged. “Naw. We probably need to get out to the country. Even if the power plant doesn’t meltdown, all these dead bodies can’t be good for us living people. There’s going to be more diseases circulating here in DuChamp than just the Z pretty soon. Like, you know, blue bonnet plague. Or… whatever.”

  Mort resisted the urge to correct his friend. It wasn’t blue bonnet plague. It was bubonic plague.

  “You’re right,” he said instead.

  “How far away should we go?” Dao-ming asked.

  “To be safe from radiation?” Mort asked. He shrugged. “I don’t know. As far as we can safely get. Does your father have any more maps? A road atlas, maybe? We’ll look for an area that is very lightly populated, someplace wooded, with a lake or river nearby so we have a consistent supply of fresh water and food.”

  “I’ll go look in his office,” Dao-ming said, rising.

  Bohai did, and they decided on a region about eighty miles northwest of DuChamp. “Here! The Quabbin Reservoir!” Mort said, stabbing the atlas with his finger. “It’s a manmade lake that supplies most of the drinking water for the state. It’s remote, fenced off, lots of wildlife so we can hunt and fish. Should be far enough away for now.”

  “So it’s decided then,” Dao-ming said. She smiled apologetically. “I just have one favor to ask you guys.”

  “What’s that, uh, sweety?” Mort inquired.

  “Since we’re all going to be riding in the Mercedes together, you two could stand a bath and a fresh change of clothes. No offense, gentlemen, but you’re both pretty ripe.”

  Dongmei nodded, wrinkling her nose. “Word!”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.” Mort’s face reddened. He was suddenly, horribly embarrassed. He didn’t want to imagine what he must have smelled like last night.

  Dao-ming gathered her father’s grooming supplies and found some shirts and underwear the men might be able to fit into. She knew neither of her two new cohorts would be able to fit in her father’s pants or shoes. They would have to keep the jeans and footwear they were currently wearing unfortunately, but Bohai liked his shirts oversized. She was sure she could find some tops both men could wear.

  She felt a stab of pain in her heart going through her father’s closet. Dao-ming brought a couple of his shirts to her nose and breathed in: his natural scent and Drakkar Noir, the cologne her father had favored. She remembered the last time she’d seen him, pushing through the crowd at the military barricade, a short stout man with thinning hair and little round spectacles. He had been shouting at the soldiers like the rest of the crowd, waving a fist, demanding to be released.

  A few seconds later, the soldiers had opened fire.

  Dao-ming shuddered, pushing away those thoughts. No time for that now.

  Mort and Pete were waiting at the edge of the swimming pool. She joined them, carrying shaving cream and deodorant, soap, washcloths and her father’s clothing.

  Mort took them from her arms with a sweet smile and a thank you, and she let her eyes linger on his face. He had a soft, round face, with kind eyes and a handsome smile. She was grateful she had met someone so gentle. Gentle and smart and just... nice! Nice was so underrated.

  Well, not anymore.

&n
bsp; Pete began to disrobe. Mort hesitated, glancing toward Dongmei, who was watching from the sliding glass door with avid interest.

  “I’ll leave you two to it, then,” Dao-ming said.

  “You can stay. I’m not shy,” Pete called over his shoulder.

  “No, thanks,” Dao-ming retorted, smiling at Mort, who had rolled his eyes at his friend. She started toward the house, corralling her sister in front of her. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Dao-ming shouted at her sister as they stepped through the patio door. “You’re staying here with me. And don’t let me catch you peeking out the window!” Dongmei squinted out at Pete one last time before Dao-ming slid the door to.

  Both men disrobed beside the Zhao’s kidney-shaped pool. It was still relatively early in the morning, cool from last night’s rain, but at least the sun was shining today. Light danced on the surface of the water, bending wavering patterns onto the powder blue tiles beneath. The water in the pool was still relatively clear, Mort noted, despite the fact that there’d been no electricity to run the filters the last couple weeks.

  After they were done with their baths, he thought, smelling himself, it was probably going to be a lot less clean.

  “So I noticed you weren’t in bed when I got up to pee last night,” Pete said casually as he sat on a wooden lounge to tug off his boots. He wasn’t looking at Mort when he said it, was squinting off toward the trees on the other side of the back fence.

  “No,” Mort admitted. He tried to restrain the goofy grin that wanted to erupt from his face but failed miserably. He was glad Pete wasn’t looking at him. He hung his head, trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

  “I guess you two knocked boots then,” Pete said. He looked toward Mort, smiling. “Made the beast with two backs. Did the horizontal boogie. Bumped uglies.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Hey, don’t be sorry about that!” Pete chided. He rose and began shucking his stiff pants down his legs. “I wouldn’t be apologizing if she’d picked me over you.” He checked the windows to make sure Dongmei wasn’t peeking, then stripped off his baggy underwear. The underwear he’d been wearing was grayish brown—and almost rigid enough to stand on its own. Pete slinked down the tiled steps, cupping his unfairly large penis and testicles in both hands as he descended into the cold water. “In fact, I’d be praisin’—WOWZERS that’s brisk!—my lucky stars!”

  Mort tossed him a washrag and a bar of soap and then disrobed. Protecting the twig and berries, he scooted over the side into the water. Pete lathered up and began to scrub his bulging pecs and flat washboard stomach. Even Pete’s muscles had muscles, Mort saw with dismay, and his stomach was so lean Mort could see veins running up from the curves of his hipbone. Wading in the shallow end of the pool beside the Adonis, Mort felt like a big, hairy tub of lard.

  “The water’s so cold!” Mort complained, teeth chattering. He splashed water on his head, impressed how dirty it was as it trickled back into the pool.

  Pete smirked. “So I see.”

  “I’m a grower not a shower.”

  Mort grabbed his own soap and washcloth and started scrubbing down his Pillsbury rolls.

  “Truth is: I should be the one apologizin’,” Pete admitted. “I’ve been kind of a jackass to you and Dao-ming. I was just jealous. Dao-ming is fucking hot. I don’t know what she sees in you—“

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “—But I won’t get in the way. I promise. You ‘n’ me, we’ve got too close to be stabbin’ each other in the back over girls. Bros before hos, right?”

  Mort and Pete looked at one another solemnly.

  “Thanks,” Mort said. “Really.”

  Pete grinned and flexed his biceps. “I mean, I don’t know why she’d wanna pass this shit up! But hey, chicks are crazy!”

  Mort laughed. “What are you smoking? Check this out!” Mort put his hands behind his head and made his stomach undulate in and out. One of his aunts had been a bellydancer, had taught him how to do it. It got him a lot of laughs in college.

  “Ha! Not too bad, Mort-for-Short. You’re starting to slim down some! I might have to break me off a piece of that ass, you keep buffin’ up like you’re doin’!”

  “Dream on, cowboy!”

  They lathered, rinsed, then climbed out to dry and get dressed. Both of them were several shades lighter—and the pool a shade or two darker—when they were done bathing. Pete appeared to be smuggling a rather large grapefruit in the clean underwear Dao-ming had lent him. He floated in Father Zhao’s shirt, though. Looked like a kid playing dressed up in his daddy’s clothes. Mort found his shirt, a blousy Hawaiian top, a little snug, and had to stretch the underwear out until its seams threatened to tear. Even tight as they were, the largest piece of produce he could claim to be smuggling was a pickle. Just why exactly had Dao-ming picked him over Pete anyway? As they sat to pull on their socks and shoes, Mort decided to quit worrying why Dao-ming liked him. Instead, he asked his friend what he intended to do about Dongmei.

  Pete shrugged. “I don’t know. Fuck her, I guess. She’s begging for it. And Dao-ming acts like she wants me to hook up with her little sister, but it’s kind of weird, you ask me. Dongmei probably still has peach fuzz down there, but, you know, it’s the end of the fuckin’ world, right? What if we all die today? I wouldn’t want to check out without gettin’ my ass tapped at least once, if I was a chick. ‘Specially by someone that looks as good as me!”

  “You’re a real prince,” Mort laughed.

  Pete snickered.

  “That’s a tough call though,” Mort said, sobering. “She’s cute and all, but…”

  “Yeah. But.”

  Dao-ming slid open the patio door. “You guys going to sit and drink International Coffee all morning, or are we going to blow this shitty town?”

  Mort and Pete jumped to their feet.

  “We’re ready,” Mort said.

  It took them an hour to pack the Mercedes. They filled the trunk and the back seat with supplies: canned food, first aid products, bottled water, toilet paper, spare clothes and camping gear. They stuffed anything they thought they might need, so long as it fit in the car. They packed plenty of guns and ammo, too, and Dongmei even found a couple old fishing rods and a tacklebox tucked in the back of a spare bedroom closet. Dao-ming could not remember her father ever going fishing, but there they were. The rods and tackle would certainly come in handy if they actually made it to Quabbin Reservoir. They even allowed Dongmei to bring a little case of cosmetics and one of her stuffed teddy bears. Her father had gotten it for her as a Valentine’s Day gift the previous year, and she was determined to bring it.

  “Just make sure it doesn’t block my rear view mirror,” Dao-ming said to her younger sister. She didn’t have the heart to tell the girl no. There were a lot of keepsakes she wished she could bring as well. Family photos, mostly. Her mother and father’s wedding pictures. But there just wasn’t room.

  “Is this everything?” Mort asked, swabbing the sweat from his brow.

  “I can’t think of anything else,” Dao-ming said uncertainly.

  “I always feel like I’m forgetting something whenever I pack,” Mort said with a nervous little laugh.

  “I don’t see how we’re all going to fit in there,” Pete said, scratching his head.

  “I’ll sit in your lap,” Dongmei volunteered.

  “Nah, I don’t think so...”

  “I don’t think you have a choice,” Dao-ming said, and her younger sister grinned up at Pete exultantly.

  “Damn,” Pete sighed.

  Mort sat in the front seat with Dao-ming. He had to hike his knees to his chest because the floorboard was filled with cases of bottled water. Pete slid into the backseat and Dongmei climbed into his lap. Pete tried to be nice for a little while, but Dongmei kept wriggling in his lap, probably on purpose, and Pete finally complained she was crushing his balls and needed to sit her bony ass still. When everyone had gotten comfortable, they turned to look at Dao-ming, who hadn’t e
ven started the engine yet.

  Dao-ming smiled back. Finally she said, “Someone has to get the gate.”

  “Oh!” Mort said, then laughed. He climbed back out of the car and trotted to the end of the driveway.

  Mort peeked through the iron rails of the security fence. Sun-dappled shade shimmered on the street. The trees traded secrets in the brisk autumn wind, their leaves a palette of oranges and reds and browns. The gutters were clogged with the leaves that had already fallen, and everyone’s yard needed to be mown one last time before winter, but there was no one left to clear those gutters of leaves, no one left to fire those mowers up and tend to the grass.

  Mort looked up and down the street, checking for deadheads. Apart from the four Dongmei had shot the day before, lying halfway up the block like piles of refuse, he saw no zombies. That didn’t mean they weren’t there-- behind a tree or just around the corner of the house-- but the coast wasn’t going to get any clearer.

  Saying a quick prayer under his breath, his heart knocking ninety beats a second, Mort unlocked the gate manually and heaved it open.

  Dao-ming backed the car to the gate, waited for Mort to jump in. He waved her past with a jerking motion, feeling very vulnerable and exposed. When Dao-ming finally understood what he wanted her to do, she reversed out onto the street and waited for him. Mort trotted out onto the street, pulling the gate shut. He made sure the locking mechanism clicked into place, then ran to the passenger side of the Mercedes and leapt into the car.

  “I didn’t want to leave the gate open in case we have to fall back,” Mort explained breathlessly.

  “Smart,” Dao-ming said.

  “That’s why he’s the brain,” Pete said, then winced and pushed Dongmei back onto a thigh. “Kid, I swear...!”

  “Sooor-rrry,” Dongmei trilled, not sounding very sorry at all.

  Dao-ming stared down the street a moment, her eyes narrowed, the engine of the sports car idling. She took a deep, calming breath, cleared her thoughts, then said, very softly, “Ready?”

  “Let’s go,” Mort said.

  “Punch it!” Pete cried.