“Son-of-a-bitch!” Angie shouted in obvious frustration.
“What is it?” Rico called out.
He passed up another room to his right and walked through the open door into a bedroom. Angie had her arms up to her elbows digging through an open dresser drawer. No sign of Angie’s mom anywhere.
“What’s the ruckus about? What in the hell are you looking for?”
“I can’t find it,” Angie said through clenched teeth, continuing her frantic search through another drawer.
“Can’t find what?” Rico asked. “Where’s your mother?”
Angie ignored his question and continued her search. “Damn it!” she said, and started tossing the contents of the drawer over her shoulder. Socks started to fly his way, and then underwear followed. Rico doubted this was Angie’s mom’s room, as he didn’t know of any women who wore tighty whities.
“I know he had it hidden somewhere. Where is it?”
“Had what hidden? Who’s he?”
Again, Angie either didn’t hear him, or didn’t feel the need to acknowledge his presence.
Rico stood there for a moment, watching her frantic behavior. When she was done with the dresser drawers, she turned to the closet. A jacket flew out the door onto the bed.
“Will you please explain to me what the hell is going on?”
A shoebox came next and landed on the jacket. When the box hit, the top came off and a load of Polaroid photos spilled out.
“Angie!” Rico stepped closer to the closet. “What are you doing? Where’s your mother?”
“Yes,” Angie said victoriously as she pulled a small wooden box from a shelf near the floor of the closet. She turned, dropping to the floor with her legs crossed.
Whatever was in that box certainly had her excited. She started to open it, but then looked up at Rico as he moved directly in front of her.
Angie’s excited expression melted into one of bewilderment. It was as if she hadn’t even known Rico was in the room until just now. “I… uhmm…”
“Angie, your mother?”
She made a face like she was afraid Rico was about to hit her. “My mom doesn’t live here.”
“What the fuck, woman?”
Angie didn’t reply. She was too focused on the box, holding it tightly as if to keep what was inside a secret.
“If your mother doesn’t live here, then whose house is this?”
“Marcus.”
“Who’s Marcus?”
“My boss.”
“Oh, you mean your pimp? That’s great. Just great.” Rico thrust his hand toward the box. “Give me that!”
“No, it’s mine! I’ve got to have this.”
Rico tried to take if from her, but Angie held firm.
“Let go,” she demanded.
“Not until you stop playing games and are honest with me.” Rico continued the tug of war.
“Please… no. Just leave me—” Angie cut her words short as the box came loose in her hand—sailing into the air. The top fell off, and the contents of the box scattered across the floor.
Rico gazed upon syringes, glass vials, packets of white powder, and shook his head.
“Look at what you did!” Angie cried, and crawled toward the drugs.
“At what I did? I didn’t bring us to a pimp’s house to steal his drugs. Are you crazy?”
“Just leave me alone,” she shouted. She reached out to gather up the spilled contents of the box.
“You’re pathetic. I’ve been a cop long enough that I should have seen this coming. I let my emotions cloud my reasoning. Your type is all the same. You’re just like Jennifer. Nothing’s really important in life except the next fix, even if it means selling your body. Even if it means you one day shoot up too much and die.” Rico stomped his foot on a syringe near his foot. The glass shattered under his boot heel. “I don’t have time for this shit. I’m out of here.”
“Look at what you did,” Angie shouted. “Wait, don’t go. I need this. Let me just shoot up this once. You know—to get us down the road. I’ll stop. You can help me. I’ll stop. I just need it one more time. I can’t just go cold turkey. Not tonight. Not tonight!” Angie broke down crying, reaching out for Rico as he stepped away.
Rico didn’t care. He had heard this all before. There was nothing he could do to help Angie. No matter what he’d try, he could never trust her. He turned around and headed his way back through the narrow hall of the trailer.
Angie shouted something else, but Rico didn’t hear the words.
“I don’t care,” Rico shouted back. “If you haven’t noticed . . . everyone’s in danger. The dead are coming back to life. It’s the end of the world, and all you can care about is your next fix!”
Rico stepped past the kitchen, and just as he entered the dim light of the living room, he turned back, about to give one more ‘fuck you’ to the woman who had used him.
That’s when everything went black.
The last thing Rico saw before the darkness engulfed his vision was Angie’s right hand holding an iron skillet coming down on his head.
Rico fell unconscious.
***
An old El Camino slowly drove down the bumpy road with its headlights off and turned into the trailer’s narrow driveway. Gravel cracked and popped under the tires, and the engine died when Rico’s motorcycle came into view.
Marcus pulled the key ring from the ignition switch and rubbed his thumb over the attached rabbit’s foot key fob.
“How long you think they been here, Boss?” Gus asked. He straightened himself in his seat and leaned forward, looking above and below the cracks in the windshield.
“Shhh…” Marcus said. “I’m trying to think.” There were a few ways he could handle the situation. The rise of the undead complicated the basic plan a bit. He wanted to have a little fun before bringing the matter to a conclusion. Maybe tonight he might just get it over with real quick like. Maybe he would flip a quarter when the time came to make the choice.
Too bad the cop didn’t have a car. Marcus loved his El Camino—had it since high school. However, the car suffered a few casualties in a recent turf war with another drug dealer. A giant web of cracks marred most of the windshield on the passenger side. The side mirror was also missing. It had been knocked off by the same baseball bat that had cracked the windshield and made some sheet metal modifications on the hood. Marcus had won that battle, but never got around to fixing the damage. He thought there would be time for that later. If the cop had a car, he could take it and leave his beloved El Camino at the trailer where it would be safe. Well, at least his car still ran well, dented hood and all.
“Sorry, Boss,” Gus whispered.
“Damn straight,” Marcus said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gus flicked a cigarette out the window.
“It means I agree with you, Gus. You are sorry.” Marcus laughed.
Gus scratched the back of his head and closed one eye. “What’s so funny? I don’t like it when you laugh when I don’t get what’s so funny.”
“Forget it,” Marcus said, lighting up a cigarette of his own. “It’s time for us to focus on the task at hand now.”
“What’s the task, Boss? What do ya want to do with them?”
“I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do with them. We’re gonna teach that cop a few lessons. No one takes out one of my Betties and doesn’t pay. So, the first lesson’s gonna involve a fist and a pair of brass knuckles. And then we’re gonna make him pay.”
“I don’t much think money is going to do any good now, Boss—what with the zombies and all.” Gus poked a little finger in his ear and twirled it around.
“I know that, stupid.”
“Then how do ya plan to make him pay?”
“I aim to take that motorcycle of his, for one thing.”
“What about Angie? I like her.”
“You say that about all the Betties. And besides, it ain’t like she hasn’t pulled some shit like thi
s before. We handle her the same as always. With care and respect.”
“So… rough her up too, but…”
“That’s right,” Marcus said, a plume of smoke bursting from his nostrils. “Just not too hard in the face. We’re going to use this end of the world shit to our advantage.”
“How’s that, Boss?”
“With money out of the picture, like you said, commerce will go back to a bartering system. And do you know what goes for a high price in the bartering system, Gus?” Marcus grinned.
“Motorcycles?”
“No, you fuckin’ dip-shit!” Marcus tossed his half smoked cigarette out the window and blew out a plume of gray. “Betties!”
“Betties?”
“Yes, Betties.” Marcus patted Gus’s broad shoulder. “We’re going to be rolling in the dough.”
“You know I’m allergic to gluten.” Gus frowned.
“I’m talking hypothetical, man. Jesus, get a clue.” Marcus shook his head.
“Oh… So that’s a good thing, then?”
“Hell’s yeah, it is! Even if paper money isn’t worth anything, we can always trade for other stuff. Food, guns, ammo. Hell, gold and silver might even make a comeback. Somebody will give us something we want if we have something they want.”
Gus smiled. “You sure are smart. That’s why you’re the boss.”
“Damn straight.” Marcus tapped a little drumroll on the steering wheel. “Damn straight.”
Chapter 11
Andy Wells turned over in his bed for what must have been the tenth time since hitting the sack. The barracks at Fort Hood were modern enough by today’s standards. His room accommodated two, akin to a college dorm. Nothing like the sleeping quarters back in the day, where men slept in bunk beds in what resembled a large warehouse.
The problem was his roommate, Alex Edwards, kept wheezing and coughing. Just as Andy would be about to drift off, Alex would hack up a lung, or sneeze with the force that whale did when it blew Jonah out its nose.
As bad as Alex had been, Andy was surprised that he hadn’t caught the croup his buddy suffered from. Andy put his pillow over his head and tried to muffle the annoying sound. If this shit didn’t stop soon, he was going to go outside and find a comfortable Humvee to bunk down in.
It took a few minutes of mully-grubbing for him to realize that Alex had finally quieted down. Was his platoon mate really asleep, or just gearing up for another round?
Andy removed the pillow and listened to the sweet sound of Alex’s shallow breaths. Finally, he thought. He turned over in the fetal position and placed a hand between his thighs.
Then it hit him. He had to pee. Of all the danged luck! Just when the opportunity presented itself, nature called to ruin it. He tried to ignore the pain in his bladder, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more it bothered him.
I give up. With the stealth of a ninja, Andy moved the sheets aside and crept to the bathroom. The room was dark, but he knew his away around well enough that he could maneuver even with his eyes closed.
He eased the bathroom door open and carefully lifted the lid—keeping his fingers between the lid and the tank so as to not make a clunk that would wake Alex. Andy was secure enough in his manhood that it didn’t bother him to sit down when he peed. Still, he had to keep the stream pointed to the side of the bowl to keep things silent.
A minute or so later, after the blessed relief, he lifted his ass off the toilet and headed back to his bed. No need to wash his hands, he hadn’t peed on them.
Alex was quiet, still fast asleep.
A few steps later would have him snug under the covers and the Sandman closing his eyelids.
The little toe on Andy’s right foot struck his desk in mid-step.
“Sumbitch!” Andy yelled, and then clenched his teeth shut. He grabbed his foot as his ass plopped on the bed. His toe throbbed like a blacksmith pounding on an anvil. Great, I’m going to wake up Sleeping Beauty.
The cold flush of pain that cascaded over his body slowly passed. Miraculously, Alex remained silent. Thank you, little blonde haired, blue eyed baby Jesus. Andy leaned over and felt the fluffy pillow under his head. At last, I’m going to get me some shut eye.
The darkness wrapped its tenderness around Andy’s mind and slowly dimmed all conscious thought.
“Uhgg.”
Andy snapped from pool of dreams back to reality.
“Ahgg.”
Dammit! Alex was awake again. Maybe if I stay quiet he’ll go back to sleep.
The mattress squeaked, feet hit the floor and dragged against it. Alex ran into the foot of Andy’s bed.
Andy sat up. “Hey, you big gorilla, the head’s the other way.” He turned on a lamp just in time to see his platoon mate reach out to grab him.
“She-it!” Andy cried when he saw Alex’s face. His square jawed buddy who favored George Clooney had turned into a flesh eating zombie.
Somehow, Andy managed to roll off the bed and avoid the deadly embrace of the man turned monster. Alex probably had forty pounds on him—all of it muscle. There was no way he could take on the big man hand to hand and expect to win.
A Bowie knife Andy had since high school set on his desk next to his computer. As Alex pulled himself off the bed, Andy grabbed the 9 inch blade from its sheath. Before he could defend himself, Alex tackled him to the ground.
The wind oofed out of Andy’s mouth as Alex growled like a wild animal. If the zombie took a chomp, his life would be over.
A gunshot rang from outside—then another. Some kind of commotion sounded from the hallway linking all the rooms on the floor of the barracks.
The carbon steel blade came up in Andy’s hand and landed smack dap in the top of Alex’s head. The big man shuddered a few times and went limp.
Andy pushed the dead man off and felt around his chest for a wound. He found nothing, and breathed a sigh of relief as chaos ensued in the hall.
A gun fired in a nearby room. Andy opened his door to see Steve Rogan come out of his room two doors down rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
“What the fuck’s going on?” Rogan asked.
Andy ran up to his friend and grabbed him by the arms. “The zombies have come back! And they is us!”
Chapter 12
Rico opened his eyes and saw a torn Coors Light carton not far from his face. He was lying amongst the trash on the floor. Something in the trash poked against his cheek. His head felt like it was in a vice and someone was pounding it with a sledgehammer.
He put his hand out and pushed himself up into a sitting position. A wave of nausea had threatened to take him back down, but he overcame it. Things were still hazy in his mind, but then, just as he reached up to his head and felt the lump, he remembered.
That stupid bitch, he thought. No good deed goes unpunished.
When he touched the lump, it felt like he had just stuck himself with a thousand needles. He brought his hand away expecting to find blood. There was none. At least he was lucky on that account.
He eased himself up, holding onto the arm of the couch. The flickering television caught his eye. I thought I turned that damn thing off? When he looked directly at screen, the bright dancing static made his head throb even more. Next to the TV was a small pyramid shaped plastic box he hadn’t noticed before. It had three LED lights and ‘The Clapper’ etched into the plastic. The clang of the frying pan hitting his head must have activated the switch and turned the TV back on. Motherfucker.
He reached down and was happy to find that Angie hadn’t taken his gun. He pulled it off his hip and popped out the clip. Satisfied all the bullets were in place, he shoved it back under his belt
The room was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. He half expected to hear Angie throwing things around in the other room like before, but he knew better than that. She had already found what she came to get. She had lied to him.
Rico gritted his teeth at the thought. How stupid could he have been to trust the word of a drug addict? Did he
allow himself to be so gullible because she was a woman? Was he trying to right the wrong he had done to Jennifer?
Rico snapped out of his pity party and felt lucky he wasn’t injured more than he had been. Sure, his head hurt. The blow with the frying pan must have just grazed him though. Had she made full contact he might be saying hello to St. Peter at the Pearly Gates about right now. He saw his motorcycle parked by the swing set through the window. He seriously doubted Angie would have tried to make an escape on foot.
He made his way back through the kitchen toward the master bedroom. In a way, he knew what to expect to find when he got there. And he had been right. Angie was sprawled across the bed next to a belt and an empty syringe. She lay there breathing, but unconscious. Other drug paraphernalia lay scattered across the end table beside the bed. The same scene he had seen time and time again over the years while in the force.
He sighed.
Part of him wanted to leave her there on her own. She would be fine as long as the door to the trailer stayed shut and she had a supply of drugs. Beyond that, who knows what would happen to her? There was nothing he could do to fix her problem. She would just slow him down anyway, and then he’d have to deal with her drug addiction all over again.
Another part of him said that as a cop he was to protect and serve. The caring side of his humanity told him it was simply the right thing to do to help a fellow man in need.
Guilt washed over him as he turned around and stepped back in the hall. Then he thought how he’d be putting his life in danger by bringing her with him. She had attacked him, after all.
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