by Mark Tufo
Large slabs of old skin and incidental body parts were mixed into the fun, giving it all a very surreal, movie-set feel. I was doing my best to convince myself this was just where the studio stored all its props. Wasn’t working; maybe it was the stench. We stuck real close to the door, first off to secure BT when he made it here, and secondly to escape if the need arose. This place was big enough I was convinced that not all the zombies had made it out. There were a couple of thuds against the far wall and what sounded like keys jangling.
The battle was still waging on outside, and as of yet, nothing was trying to eat us inside. I opened the door just wide enough to get an idea of what was going on. Once I was convinced the zombies had shuffled off, I yelled: “Move!” to Travis, slamming the door wide open in my haste to make way. BT, in all his magnificent glory, was barreling down on our location. Something was chasing him, but it was like trying to peer around a Winnebago to see the sub-compact car following. BT blew past us and I got a quick glimpse of the squad of zombies fast on his heels.
“Shut the door! Shut the door!” I shouted.
Travis had the “make up your mind” look, but did as I asked. It whistled past my face by not more than an inch—I felt the large whoosh of air as I nearly became de-nosified, if that’s even a thing. I leaned my shoulder into the door just as the zombies collided with it. Light spilled in as they pushed me back. Travis joined in and we were able to reduce the crack of light to a sliver. Once BT had stopped his momentum and turned around, he was able to help and we got the door shut again. I had no idea how we were going to keep them from coming in. It was just a swinging door. Sure, the other side had a cross beam to keep it shut, but we were in no position to slide that into place. But then, maybe we were.
“You got this?” I asked BT. He nodded. I looked over to the right of the door; there was a large, flat piece of steel with a handle on it. It was the same as on the other side of the wall. It made sense. The zombies were smart enough to know about a door that could open both ways; they would need to prevent that from happening. I grabbed the steel and pulled it along until it slid through the small handles specifically retrofitted for this device. It should keep them out for a while, at least, until they figured out all they needed to do was slide the bolt back on their side; we didn’t have the capability to lock it on our side.
“You alright, man?” I asked BT
He looked down at the blood coating his skin. “Most of it's not mine, and thank you for coming to get me. I should be asking you how you’re doing.”
I pulled up my shirt to show that I barely had a scar where I’d been shot.
“Must be nice,” he said.
“Not so much. Listen, I love you like a brother, but you being all naked like this is freaking me out a little bit. How about we find you a Best Buy smock or something.”
Didn’t have to go far. There was a small metal desk that the employees used to mark off inventory, and there was a set of hangers with a row of clean, blue smocks. I couldn’t help but laugh when BT put one on.
“What the fuck is so damned funny, Talbot?”
“You look like a damn baby with that thing on. Like it’s a bib or something.”
“I’ve had a rough night, man. Do you think it’s wise to further exacerbate the situation? Wouldn’t you rather be decent to me?”
“Oh no, my friend. I don’t think you’re getting it. Kicking a loved one when they’re down is that much better! You’ve been around long enough to know that.”
“It’s true,” Travis chimed in, nodding.
I knew the man had been through hell, so when we fashioned some crude pants from the remaining smocks I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they looked like diapers. Plus I think he would have killed me. Everyone has their breaking point.
“Now what?” he asked once he figured he had enough of himself tucked away.
“Well, there should be another way out of here—a truck access, and I’m hoping our ride is waiting and that Deneaux hasn’t bailed.”
“She’s still here and a part of this rescue?”
“Yeah. Integral, as a matter of fact.”
“That’s not good, Mike.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I’d rather buy pharmaceuticals from a snake oil salesman.”
“You probably have.”
“Don’t judge,” I told him as I started to go deeper into the room looking for the way out.
“Do you guys have an extra firearm for me?”
Travis handed him a small pistol. I smirked when I realized he was going to have to use his pinkie finger to pull the trigger.
“I wish I had my boots,” BT lamented. I looked down to his feet as he shuffled them through all manner of organic material I did not want to identify. In the span of two heartbeats from me looking down and looking back up, I felt hands wrap around my waist and a fetid breath brush up against my ear.
“Watch out, dad!” My son was pointing his rifle right at my head. The zombie was holding a pinch of skin from my neck between its teeth, almost like a mother cat will its young as it’s moving them. If the zombie had wanted to chew through, it had ample opportunity thus far. As Travis moved to get a better angle, the zombie spun me to stay out of the way.
“I can shoot her, dad,” Travis said with the gun up to his shoulder. All I could see from my angle was down the bore of the barrel.
“Everyone just hold on a second.” I had my free hand up.
BT had his pistol up. “Mike, talk to me man—what’s going on?”
“You tell me,” I said nervously. The zombie pulled me in tighter and released my neck. Before I could make any sort of counter move, she whispered a word. It wasn’t the word that froze my blood, it was the fact that she spoke one. “She said ‘Knox,’” I told them, not moving an inch.
“She said something?” BT looked more concerned than me. “She’s a zombie. You sure?”
“Plain as day.”
“Knox,” she rasped again, this time, more audibly. I was glad I didn’t have to try to convince them I hadn’t lost my mind.
“Whoa. That must be his ex-wife. She cheated on him and he had her turned into a zombie.”
“Yeah...now what?” I asked.
She struggled with the next word but damned if she didn’t put a sentence together. “Want Knox.”
“I think she wants us to let her out, dad.” Travis had not lowered his weapon.
My mind was racing. If she bit me, if she just nipped me, the shit fest would begin. I was open to any options.
“BT?” I asked.
“I can take her.”
The zombie growled.
“What about me?” I asked.
“You could be collateral damage.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to work.” Terrified was a pretty good word for how I was feeling, petrified, maybe. Shit my pants nervous. Is that too far? You have a zombie breathing on your neck, whispering in your ear. Now, tell me how you feel. Loose bowels would be the least of your concerns. “We’ll go to the door; I’ll let you out. You let me live; they let you live.”
She did not answer but she began to pull me in that general direction. I went with the flow. BT and Travis stayed tight, firearms raised, aimed and at the ready. I was not at all thrilled to be in the middle of this.
“What if this is a trick, man?” BT asked.
“A trick?”
“What if she just wants us to let her friends in?”
“I’m not sure what you want me to do here? She could have already killed me. Let’s just let her go and hope for the best.” She obviously understood the conversation; there was nothing I could say that threatened her that wouldn’t also threaten my own well-being. I wanted to get her sewer breath off of me. Apparently, the dead don’t believe in Listerine. She pressed her back up against the door and gave me a little shake, I presume so I would pull back on the crossbeam, I did just that. I was not too thrilled to be on the front lines. If zombies were still on the other sid
e, I was going to be ground zero. I opened the door a crack; the battle for Best Buy had moved to the far end. Mrs. Knox’s grip on my waist loosened, as it seemed I was no longer at the forefront of her thoughts. When I could tell she had turned to look, I broke free from her grasp. She looked at the three of us as we looked at her.
“Mike?” BT asked.
I raised my rifle thinking on the strange zombie girl I had let go in that field seemingly years ago. How much easier might survival have been if I’d just killed Eliza back then? I blew Knox’s wife’s head clean from her body. I’ve made mistakes in my life, sometimes even the same one multiple times. This was not going to be one of them. I lowered my weapon just as Travis moved forward. He pushed her body the rest of the way out of the door before closing it.
“Hardcore, man. Hardcore,” BT said.
“I’ll get over it,” I told him. “Who do you think she’d eat once she finished off her husband? Let’s get out of here; I don’t think I can take any more weird things happening today.” I made sure that he knew I was looking at him. Found the exit without any more fanfare, which was just fine. We were behind the big store and we were absolutely alone. No Ron, Deneaux, or Tiffany.
“What’s the plan now?” BT looked around.
“To be honest, the idea of getting you out seemed so remote I hadn’t solidified this part too much.”
“You’re kidding, right?” He seemed genuinely pissed off.
“Yeah, because I fucking knew you were going to be doing MMA in a fucking cage, naked, and that we were going to have to escape through a gauntlet of zombies, then into the storeroom where we would be taken hostage by the Mrs. Woman Scorned of zombies. I had all those contingencies planned out because it’s about what we expected. But hey man, you’re fucking welcome for the rescue.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I’m tired, I’m scared and I’m dressed like a homeless baby-man.”
“You wish you were dressed like a homeless man,” Travis told him.
“Nice one.” I fist bumped my son.
“Fuck you both,” BT told us.
“Let’s go. Staying here isn’t an option. Knox is going to come looking for us soon,” I said as we headed to the corner of the building closest to us.
We’d no sooner made it to the edge of the building and were peering around the corner when we heard the throaty roar of a throttling engine behind us. A black muscle car was rocking slightly as the driver kept pressing on the gas pedal.
“Now what?” I asked, almost resigned.
A thin, ancient, wrinkled arm stuck out from the driver’s side window. A yellow, tobacco stained middle finger arose, just as she laid down a patch of rubber in her haste to get to us.
“Should I shoot her?” BT asked in all honesty.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing you did today. Let’s just wait around the corner and see what trick she’s got hiding in her wrinkles.”
The car fishtailed as she tread-marked the pavement with her heavy-footed stop. Deneaux was looking at us, a cross between sadism and ecstasy on her face, I’m pretty sure a common expression there. Tiffany was in the passenger seat, looking about as pale as a snow drift in a blizzard.
“She’s fucking crazy,” Tiffany said without turning to look at us.
“Get in.” Deneaux nodded her head to the back.
“Ron?” I asked as I got in.
“Nothing.” She peeled out. I was forced into my seat like we were being launched into orbit. “That’s a new look for you, Mr. Tynes,” she said as she looked in the rearview mirror with a bemused smile on her face.
“Fuck you, Deneaux.”
“Testy testy.”
“You have no idea.” I was echoing her words. Without being asked or told, Mrs. D. was heading to the gas station to see if we could pick up Ron’s trail. It was bizarre having her as an ally. It was like riding on the back of crocodile as he paddled you across a river; you could not navigate without his help, but you knew, you absolutely fucking knew, that once you were at your most vulnerable, say in the middle of the fast moving current, that the fucking reptile was going to flip you off its back and drag you down into the icy depths where it would do a death spin on your ass. Nothing personal. It’s just the nature of the thing. It was exactly like that with Deneaux; it wasn’t a matter of “if.” The best thing to do would be to pretend she was like Knox’s ex and put a bullet in her head. And maybe I would have if she hadn’t come to the rescue, like, three times already today.
My thoughts were pulled away from Deneaux as we got to the gas station. Well, close to, anyway. It was still burning; the fire had been so hot that the asphalt in the parking lot had started to melt. Black slag flowed away and down the street heading to the storm drain.
“Mike.” BT had tapped my shoulder and was pointing to the far edge of the lot by the station itself.
We were all looking at the husk of a truck, Ron’s truck. There wasn’t much left of it and we couldn’t get close enough to tell if anyone was in there. My stomach clutched up in that painful panic one gets just before being presented with very bad news.
“Stop the car.”
She was rolling slowly past. She didn’t stop.
“Deneaux. Stop the car.”
“I can’t. Look behind you.”
I turned to look out the rear windshield. Hundreds of zombies, thousands maybe, were hauling ass down the street right for us.
Another one left behind. I thought. “I’m sorry, Ron,” I said as I put my hand up on the window. Deneaux pulled away quickly and was heading back to the casino.
“What are you doing?” I asked as she pulled into the parking lot.
“What’s changed? We still need the bus.”
“BT almost died by those crazy fucks and my brother is dead. I’d say plenty has changed.”
“Big picture, Michael, big picture. There are still over twenty people in great need of safety and security. If anything, today proves that more than ever.”
I heard her, but I was on auto-pilot. Another Talbot gone on my watch. BT and Travis went and checked out our new ride. I pretended to keep a look out. Was going to be difficult to see much with my head hanging down the way it was. What the fuck was I going to tell his kids? They were orphans in a world where they needed more protection than ever. Tiffany got out of the car when the bus’s motor cranked over.
“Come on, Mike.” BT had put his hand on my shoulder.
I stood up from the car I’d been leaning on. Deneaux was still inside her beefy ride.
“I’m keeping it,” she said as she lit a cigarette. “I’ll follow you.”
I got onto the bus and took a seat. Travis had asked me a few times if I was alright, but it was like I was at the bottom of a pool and they were all shouting to me from the surface. Sure, I could tell people were talking, but it was so distorted, unintelligible, and it was so peaceful here on the bottom. As eventful as the first bus ride had been, it seemed we were getting a free pass on this one. Seemed like someone actually gave a shit. We rolled up to Ron’s house an hour later where I burst into tears that wouldn’t stop until I’d fallen asleep some four hours later.
Chapter 11
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 8
Three days later and I’d not done much except stay in bed. The house had been a whirlwind of activity for those of us not completely enshrouded in depression. They worked to get what we would need for a cross country expedition. Meredith, Ron’s oldest surviving kid, had come in to assure me that what happened to her dad was not my fault. Fell on deaf ears. Melissa, his youngest daughter, mirrored my actions, I mean, she stayed in her bedroom with the lights on for the better part of the week. Mark, his son, was morose, but at least he was walking around and doing things, although he seemed to be more on auto-drive.
“Talbot, you need to get up and check over what we’ve done,” Tracy said smacking my foot.
“I’m sure you’ve got it handled,” I told her.
“I know w
e do. I’m trying to get you up and active, to feel like you’re a part of this family again. And before you even open that trap of yours, don’t go into that crap about how you shouldn’t be part of this family or that you only get people killed.”
I couldn’t say anything because that was exactly what I was going to say. She’d pretty much cut me off at the knees. I did the only thing I could—I got the fuck up. Tracy hung around the door making sure I put some clothes on and didn’t just fall back into bed.
“Mike, can you help me?” BT appeared at the door just as I was finishing up with my belt.
“Tracy send you up here?”
“What do you think?” he asked back without really answering my question.
“Is this a real emergency or a fabricated one?”
“Follow me and you can judge for yourself.”
We’d made it to the first floor and were halfway down the basement stairs when I heard Trip shouting.
“This is a travesty of justice, man! This is just like Saigon! You can’t leave them behind!!”
“What the hell is he on about?” I asked as we headed to the storeroom.
BT said nothing as he pushed me forward. I looked in. Trip had handcuffed himself to a box, and not like a heavy crate full of iron parts, but rather a half empty box of Ho Ho’s.
“Ponch man! Ponch! Help me, man, we’ve got to rally the people. Join my sit in!” He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, an ocean of cupcake wrappers around him.
