Still Alive (Book 5): Zombie River Run

by Bonds, Javan

  I looked up and shook my fist. “Damn you, CROW!”

  10

  Memoirs of Benji 1

  DEVIN LANDERS, MY copilot, and I boarded a single engine with plans to take an aerial trip around the county to see if we could pick up any survivors. I was confident we would make it back given that he was traveling with me. You can read in my earlier memoirs it seems, at least since May Day, he has some kind of connection with whatever– or Whomever– has been controlling events since the beginning zombie apocalypse. If this were a movie, he would have a direct line to the person writing the script.

  “You ready for this?” Devin asked as he swung himself into the Cherokee.

  He was wearing black leather pants accented with a black leather biker’s jacket and black leather gloves. I met the guy Mo called The Tech and saw some of his costumes. The spikes on the shoulders and the wrists of his jacket made it clear to who this outfit belonged to. The wicked looking logging chain thrown over a shoulder completed his get up. It may not have done so yet, but you could tell the thing could really inflict some pain. The only way Devin could have looked more awesome is if his skull was on fire.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I settled into the seat behind the controls, wearing my scruffy bombers jacket.

  What I was wearing didn’t come from Gene’s collection of outfits. I’ve had this old thing since before I became a naval flight officer. I don’t know why this pair of leather gloves was in my pack, but I put them on and told the Star Trek dude to save his stuff for someone else.

  Mo told me that “all main protagonists require some type of armor and melee weapon.” Apparently, I am being lumped into his little crew of pirates. I guess that’s a good thing. Main protagonists in movies don’t usually die. And if they do, it’s in some meaningful and ultimately badass way. When I go out, at least I’ll go down in a blaze of glory. I wonder what my role is supposed to be. It has to be something that sounds more epic and memorable than some lame ass designation like The Hero.

  I went to Gene the day the Viva Ancora was scheduled to set sail and presented what I would be wearing; he looked me up and down and smiled. “I know just what you need.”

  He disappeared downstairs on the Cora and came out with something that would complete my outfit perfectly. A wide rimmed Fedora and a bull whip were in each hand. I don’t know how he instinctually knew neither Devin nor I would accept any kind of hard armor. I guess it’s something about being Navy men: our armor can only be driven, steered, or flown; it’s not something you wear.

  “Holy shit!” I gave him a lopsided grin. No one born in the past century would have any trouble recognizing what this stuff was.

  I placed the hat on my head and reached for the whip. He pulled back. “Hold on! You gotta see something.”

  Gene turned to his left to a coke can sitting on the rail of the boat, just a few yards away. He drew the whip, seeming to aim. Finally he drew his arm back and threw it forward. The whip snapped into the aluminum can with a “crack” and it basically exploded.

  “What the–“

  He gleefully showed me small metal wires running along the business end of the whip. I didn’t understand all the mathematic mumbo-jumbo he was telling me, but hell, I don’t care. It’s going to kick ass and that’s what matters!

  ☠☠☠

  As we sped down the runway, I thought about what we could run into. I hoped there wouldn’t be any full football teams in need of rescuing. We would only be able to carry three– maybe four souls maximum. We’d be making several return trips if we encountered the entire cast of Full House. DJ would definitely be on the first trip out; along with Jesse’s wife, Becky. I’d even take Joey on the first trip if he talked in funny voices. Jesse, though, he would be on the last plane ride to safety. Danny even goes before he does. Do I have to tell you I don’t like John Stamos?

  I was hoping if we did discover living people, we could land somewhere nearby, pick up a couple of individuals, take off, and be home in just a few minutes. I turned to my friend. “There’s no way it’s going to be that easy, is it?”

  He swiveled his head to me as if he knew what I had been thinking, and spoke flatly. “What do you think?”

  When the plane leveled off, we started scanning the ground, looking for any movement. We weren’t expecting to see “ALIVE INSIDE” signs on top of the old Crossroads Mall in Albertville, just anything would be great. We didn’t see a damn sign of anyone. It was as if the county had been abandoned for decades on the first couple of flights. It was depressing. I was beginning to think we were alone. On our third trip, we actually came across a small family and were able to save them. It was a great feeling to take someone to what had to be paradise after everything they had been through. I should have known that plane ride was going to be eventful when my copilot volunteered to go. I should have known the same for this adventure. Maybe I’ll figure it out eventually.

  We had been instructed to keep the rides short to save on fuel and sunlight. We were only going to fly straight over the mountain and follow Highway 431. We would be flying over a good portion of Guntersville, Albertville, Boaz, and finally the giant metropolis of Sardis before turning around to land at Guntersville airport.

  I would have liked to fly over the Pleasant Grove community to see if I could spot my family. But I promised myself to keep my mind on rescuing survivors. If my family was alive, they would eventually make it to Guntersville. I was afraid to fly over my home and see nothing. That would be even more depressing than simply not knowing.

  It might initially seem like a good idea to fly with some kind of banner or something to draw the attention of humans. But think about it: we are flying a plane over an area that had seen no electricity, no cars or trucks, and no mechanized equipment whatsoever in over a month. If you were sitting in your completely quiet house in a nearly dead world, I guarantee you would hear any kind of airplane long before you could see it. If you were barely making it, waiting for rescue, I’m also pretty sure you wouldn’t be hiding. You might be cautious at first, but you’re going to flag down the plane before it flies out of view.

  ☠☠☠

  “Well, come to think of it... They ain’t been too kindly.” I was speaking to a Gomer Pyle impersonator.

  This guy seriously made hicks like me look like PhDs. He didn’t know why the power had “just plum cut off” or why the radio stopped playing “Cotton Eye Joe,” but the people down the road started “running around like chickens with their heads cut off, naked as jaybirds, and screeching like barn owls.” The neighbors had apparently “gone bonkers and started eating meat before it was hung up to bleed.”

  Gomer Pyle was actually named Cletus Tidmore and he didn’t even flag us down! We spotted the smoke exhaust from his old Massey Ferguson. He was just “tilling up the field when that there bi-plane come down on the county road.” He told us he “ain’t seen much a nobody in a coon’s age.” He was “afixing to start up the old Ford and head down to check on Leroy and the rest of ‘em. Ain’t been nobody but my woman, the kid, and me.” He looked over to his son standing on the porch, turned back to me, and spoke in a low voice. “The dog musta R-U-N-N-O-F-T.”

  I was amazed this guy was able to make it this long with absolutely no idea of the zombies. “How have you kept from getting bit?”

  He looked at me, bewildered. “Bit? You mean by them meth heads? I shut up the chicken coop every night and they figured out I mean business when I gave them some birdshot a couple times.” He spit to his side, letting me know they wouldn’t be bothering him anymore.

  I was stupefied. Mo probably had some catchy title for a person or group of persons that had remained nearly completely alone since the outbreak began and stayed ignorant of the threat of zombies.

  I spoke slowly to Cletus and thought using some of his vernacular might make him more compliant. “You and your kinfolk need to load up with us on that flying machine. Them tweakers got it out for y�
�all and if’n y’all don’t git while the gittin’s good, there’ll be hell to pay!” I thought I was through, but I tacked on a good one. “They’ll be stickin’ it to your woman!”

  Cletus drew back and gasped. His wife cried out and covered the ears of her young’un. I think I just hit the nail on the head. He pointed a finger at me and started speaking at a rapid-fire pace. “You listen to me, feller. Them sumbitches ain’t gonna lay a hand on my Loretta! I’ll show them dad-blamed, no good–”. His slurred speech became unintelligible mumbling as he grew angrier and angrier. He finally took a breath before backpedaling to the porch. “We’ll get in your aeroplane. I just got a get my jug of my best shine.”

  I’m guessing Cletus made his own moonshine. The smell of cooking alcohol must have been what was keeping the peevies away. If we had the time and a way to transport Cletus’s still we would have. Maybe he could have helped The Medicine Man investigate some ways to weaponize alcohol. Too bad he already left on the boat with Mo. It wouldn’t matter anyway if we were never able to return to the island. Had Cletus known his bad habit would cost him his life so soon, he probably would have quit right then and there.

  ☠☠☠

  Cletus searched through the cabinets, hoping frantically to find his prize. Cans. Cans. More canned food. Bingo! There’s some glass jars. Oh well. It may not be the clay jug he was looking for, but he could get a slug while this was in his hand.

  Cletus pulled the canning jar out of the cabinet and held it in his hand. Full of clear liquid. He grinned and in one smooth motion he unscrews the top, popped the lid, and raised it up to begin guzzling. He coughed it out his mouth and dropped the jar, spilling the contents onto the floor. “Tarnation!” That wasn’t painter’s piss. It must have been some of that white vinegar Loretta made last year. Damn woman needs to start putting some kind of label on her jars to keep them from getting mixed up with the good stuff.

  If Cletus had any inclination that the meth heads were actually infected and turned into crazed animals seeking only to eat raw meat, it wouldn’t have mattered. Now that vinegar, one of the most mind numbingly attractive substances known to drive the plague victims into a rabid frenzy had been unleashed into the air, it was too late. Nothing would be able to stop the ravenous throng. If he had immediately knocked over a five gallon bucket of his homemade bourbon, he would not have killed the scent of the first liquid.

  ☠☠☠

  “Tarnation!” We could hear Cletus make a fuss in the house. Devin and I were about to go investigate when he walked out onto the porch. “It’s all right fellas. Ain’t no need to get all worked up. I was looking for some of my corn liquor and I accidentally got a hold of a jar of Loretta’s vinegar. Then I went and spilt it all over the darn place. But I wiped it up.”

  I looked at him, dumbfounded. “Vinegar?” He nodded as he walked in our direction.

  I nearly had to sit down. How could anyone not know what would happen next? “Do you know what you’ve just done?”

  He put his hands on his hips. “I told you I wiped it up! Besides, at least it smelled clean in there. I even spread it around a little bit on the floor.”

  Before he finished speaking, distant barks and howls could be heard on the wind. Frantic yipping, akin to the excited calls of coyotes came from seemingly every direction. Halfway between the house and the plane, I turned back to my winged vehicle and gestured for the others to follow. “We gotta move. Now!” Things were about to start getting blue.

  ☠☠☠

  I could already see blunatics racing in our direction down the dusty county road. The beasts had obviously been starving over the past month. There were only so many wild animals in the area. Of course, I can only picture the horrific scene of a herd of cows being slaughtered in the field.

  A bovine could weigh nearly a ton more than one of the former humans, but just a handful of humanoids with opposable thumbs and the ability to think and plan could overtake a great number of cattle in just a few minutes.

  Imagine a group of dozens of cows lining up in a circle to form a barrier around their young. Even taking into account some of them might have horns, they would stand no chance versus hordes of rabid apes. They would be taken down one by one.

  The last few defiant cows would be standing together, bloodied scratches and bite marks over their entire bodies. They were completely unable to protect their defenseless offspring. They might have stomped or driven a few of the blue monsters to the ground, but they would eventually fall.

  The plague carriers would rip the animals into shreds, probably starting with some skirt steak or rump roast. Steaming, raw meat would be pulled in strings as the four-legged animals screamed in pain and terror. The beef bones would be licked clean and left in the field for the insects.

  The family boarded the plane followed by the two of us. I tried the ignition and received a quick spin of the propeller and some sputtering. Are you fucking serious? Of course this would happen now. Devin jumped out to spin the propeller by hand and gave the engine a once over. We were grounded. Why, God?

  I leaned out my door and took a shot at the coming enemy while my copilot fiddled with the motor. Cletus came out the door behind me, pumping rounds of double ought buckshot into the closest undead. I could tell they weren’t expecting to find humans. It would have been a gift from the god of blue, only these humans had boom makers that threw rocks at a ridiculously high speed.

  The animals were falling one after the other, but the overwhelming number of insane flesh eaters meant they were slowly gaining ground. The fact they lost a comrade for every yard of ground gained meant absolutely nothing to an enemy driven by insatiable hunger. Nothing stood between the peevies and their prize.

  I emptied mag after mag while Cletus kept feeding shells into the tube of his scattergun. Without looking back I shouted at him. “Cletus!” He reached up for the pistol in my outstretched hand. He would do whatever it took to save his loved ones.

  He filled his last tube with shotgun shells as he let one round from his shotgun go when the muzzle pressed against the bloated stomach of one of the animals. The explosion was somewhat muted as the round pulverized blue flesh. The animal was eviscerated by the close quarters onslaught. Blood, jagged shards of bone, liquefied guts, black diarrhea, and every other bodily fluid rocketed out of the back of the creature. The scourge was immediately paralyzed and almost cut in two when the pumpkin balls severed the spine. Its top half was only attached to the legs by skin and had hit the ground beside the feet. The animal nearly instantly died when everything above the stomach dropped out of the massive wound.

  Cletus was now using the shotgun as a club, holding the barrel and bashing the butt into oncoming peevies. Skulls were cracked, jaws shattered, and shoulders crushed as he beat his enemy back. He continued to swing as he launched the occasional pistol round at the horde. A warrior he was, but resistance still proved futile.

  The revenants were in reach, outstretched arms grasping like the classic zombie. He put everything he had into a losing battle. At least, perhaps, he gave his family a chance. “Loretta, hold on to my secret recipe!” I knew he was talking about his recipe for making booze. Really? That’s going to be your final words?

  His wife cried out, knowing this was the finale.

  Devin had been sending his own rounds over the nose of the plane. He apparently did something to the engine and slammed the cover down. “Give it a go!” He gave the propeller a spin before I turned it over again. It miraculously began working.

  I didn’t want to close the door, but I knew even if I told him to get in, Cletus would ignore me. I shut the door just as he pressed his back against the side of the plane. As we started to move, he put the pistol in his mouth. I’m not going to detail what happened next. Just know that the peevies briefly forgot about us and focused on the fresh meat.

  Loretta and the boy in the back wailed, knowing there was nothing they could do. I yelled at the window and the rabid c
annibals surging past. I knew they couldn’t hear me and they wouldn’t take it as me doing anything more than making noise, but I spoke with pure hatred. “I. Will. Kill. Every. Fucking. One. Of. You!”

  The villainous monsters massed on the body of The Sacrifice. They greedily ripped shreds of bloodied muscle from bone. Our new friend had just given his life to save every soul in this plane. Cletus Tidmore was a hero. We now had two more survivors to add to our community.

  I spoke without turning my head. “Did that really have to happen?”

  Devin responded solemnly. “I don’t have a SAY.”

  Interlude

  MY RADIO BUZZED at the expected time. “Mo. Gray Fox here. You read?”

  “Ten four, good buddy.” I could tell my dad had a question mark on his face. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

  It was almost as if a weight lifted every time he dropped into a casual tone. “You know I told you the other night that at child went missing? Well, she’s still missing for nearly a week now and no sign.

  “Did she just wander off? How did she get off the island unnoticed?”

  “She didn’t.” He trusted his guards impeccably to keep a Watch out. You know, since two of the really observant bastards got their throats slit by The Betrayer in my third journal.

  This sounded perplexing. “So, somebody on the island has kidnapped a kid?” That sounded okay when I said it, but now that it’s on paper, it just looks weird. A kidnapper should nap kids, “kidnapper” is kind of self-explanatory.

  He had an edge to his voice. “I think so. There’ve been people searching with nothing found so far. We will have to start an official investigation.”

  Too bad The Oracle and I are not there. Our Sherlock Holmes skills would have the mystery solved in just a few chapters. Am I Sherlock or is he? Well, he does call me Watson sometimes.

  My father continued. “And this preacher might be bad news. Martin Williamson is a lawyer and he said he remembered hearing this guy’s name concerning bad checks and other legal issues down in Birmingham. It’s a common name, so maybe he heard about somebody else, but we should probably ask him.”