by David Barker
"I'd like to see the garage first before I made that decision."
"Oh shit. I forgot all about the garage. I'll show it to you on the way up to your room. You'll need me to take you there. There's no way you'll find it alone if I give you directions."
"Great. So, if I like the set up in the garage, if I think I can make it work, then I don't see why not. It beats the hell out of taking shit from Raymond." Raymond was Davey's manager at the filling station. The guy was a real prick. He never missed an opportunity to give Davey a bad time over something. If a tool went missing, Davey must have lost it. If a job was messed up and the customer was yelling about it, Davey must have done the work. There was no way he could win with Raymond riding his ass. Plus, Raymond had the hots for Maggie, and he made a big show of it every chance he got. Patting her on the butt. Trying to steal a kiss. Talking nasty about her right to her face. Davey wanted to lay a wrench across his skull. If civilization ever collapsed and there was no more law and order, Raymond would be one of the first to die -- Davey would see to that.
"Good. The doc will be pleased. We've needed a reliable mechanic since old Max died. Of course, he's still around, stands in a field out back all day, turning nuts on a junker. Unscrews them, then torques them back down again, over and over. It's pointless, but the doc says it makes Max happy, so he lets him do it."
"I thought they were completely passive, that they'd only do what they're told to do by the master."
"Well, not completely. Lacking any instructions, they'll do what comes naturally to them, both on an animalistic level -- like breathing, blinking, et cetera -- and on a social level. Max was a mechanic for sixty years, working on cars every day. That's what comes natural to him, and that's what he does now if left to his own devices."
They finished up their beers, and Rick tossed Davey another to take with him.
The garage was not what Davey had expected, which was a fleet of late model SUVs, Jeeps, maybe a Hummer thrown in for good measure -- and the usual assortment of tools, new parts and shop supplies. What he saw was ten ancient sedans, some under tarps, some uncovered. Lots of junky used parts laying in pools of oil.
"What the fuck?"
"Meet the Technocracy Packards. Doc Karshton bought the entire fleet cheap in the 1980s. They were on a farm out near Valsetz, rotting. He got them for fifty bucks each. These are the only cars he will use. Your job is to keep them running."
"Jesus Christ. Getting parts will be impossible."
"Not impossible, but expensive, and a pain in the ass to find. Some parts you'll have to refurbish or make yourself, which is why were have a complete machine shop."
"What do you mean by 'Technocracy Packards?' I never heard of that model."
"It's not a model name. This was a fleet used by the Technocracy movement back in the 1940s and 50s. Check out the doors. You can still see the weird Technocracy logos on them, which is why he refuses to allow them to be repainted."
Davey had noticed the weathered original paint jobs with rust showing through on the roofs and fenders, and the odd red and white Ying-Yang-like symbols stenciled on the doors.
"Think of it as a challenge," said Rick.
"Oh, I will. You can be sure of that."
Rick showed him his room for the night, far off in an empty new wing of the building where nobody would notice him. He was right; Davey never would have found it by himself.
"Sleep tight. Don't let the bugs bite."
"Mañana , dude."
Davey tossed his sleeping bag in the dark and bare room, pulled the tab on the second beer and went out on the balcony with his radio and cigarettes. There was an outlet and he plugged it in. Tuned, of course, to the only station he ever listened to: a classic rock station in Tusk.
"Sweet Child of Mine" by Guns N' Roses was playing. His favorite song. The yearning guitar riffs exactly mimicked the sweet, melancholy pangs he felt when he thought of Maggie. She was in his soul, deep. It was never a choice, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He had fallen in love with her the first time he saw her. It took fifteen seconds. Technically, she wasn't anyone's definition of a great beauty. Cute, yes, kind of pretty. Petite. But she gave off this aura, this crazy flower-in-sunshine aroma of pollen and honey -- it drove him mad. She must have had super high pheromone levels. Anyway, that grabbed him and never let go, and he was hooked on her like a drug. He had to be around her. That was all there was to it.
The balcony overlooked the field where zombies toiled all day, growing corn. The harvested corn was shipped off by truck to a rail hub in Eastern Oregon where it went out to biofuel plants all over the country as feedstock for ethanol production.
Green energy, brought to you by the miracle of zombie slave labor.
Nothing out there now but a green tractor and irrigation pumps under the moonlight. He tried to imagine what it must look like when they were working the field during the day, but couldn't picture it. Did they sweat? Rick said they had normal human biological functions, for the most part, except they were dead. The living dead.
Shit. What am I doing here?
He had a good view of the landscape from his balcony. Over on the left, a patch of bright lights down in the valley. That must be Tusk. He couldn't make out any individual lights -- street lamps, windows, car taillights -- nothing that detailed. With his binoculars, though, it might be possible to see what went on down there on a Saturday night in mid-July. Maggie would be working the night shift. With the binocs, he might spot her moving between the pumps and the mini-market. He'd bring them when he moved in.
Yeah, one of those fuzzy areas of white radiance could be the Petro-Void filling station, with Maggie racing around, trying to keep up with the steady stream of cars coming in, and Raymond watching her with lust in his eyes.
Strangely, Davey seldom felt simple sexual desire for Maggie. Sure, once in a while. After all, he was a normal guy in his mid-twenties. But he'd moved way beyond lust with Maggie. She had some greater power over him. Some spiritual hold. She'd burrowed into his heart and taken it over.
"Ah, sweet child of mine," he said out loud to no one, flicking cigarette ash over the railing.
The lights of Tusk twinkled like a distant star. Everything he cared about was in that small luminous circle, like it was happening on a stage and he was in the audience, only able to watch, never having a part to play.
Damn, Maggie. I can't even tell you how I feel.
He bowed his head and shook it back and forth as Led Zeppelin’s "Kashmir" came on.
#
Davey woke before dawn, threw his gear in the back of his pick up and headed out. His saw his first zombie about half way down the long private drive leaving the estate. It was a male, clearing weeds on the roadside with a long handled tool, what you'd call a scythe, he guessed. He had no doubt that's what it was: one of the thralls. There was something unnatural about its posture and movement. Like it was locked into the role it was playing and couldn't break loose if it wanted. It seemed compelled by external forces to keep doing what it was doing, never slowing its pace, never speeding up, not stopping for a second to catch its breath or wipe its brow. He stopped his truck to watch for a minute. The thing didn't look up, didn't seem to notice him there only fifteen feet away. It just kept swinging that scythe.
#
Davey was doing a break job on a Toyota. Maggie was out pumping gas. Raymond tended the register in the mini-market. The radio was tuned to Davey's station, playing "A Stairway to Heaven." What with the noise of passing cars, the clanking of his tools, and the occasional whir of his power wrench, the song was only partly audible, but he was nonetheless following it, the lyrics calling to mind poignant scenes and emotions that had been rattling around in his brain -- all related to Maggie.
Davey glanced at the window, saw her standing on the concrete island between two pumps, taking advantage of a rare break in the flow of cars to rest for a moment. She brushed a long strand of hair from her eyes, smiled gent
ly to herself, and his heart sank.
Right in the middle of a long guitar solo, Raymond came into the shop. He glanced over at the window and saw Maggie.
"I'd hit that any day."
As if saying that wasn't enough, Raymond made an obscene thrusting motion with his hips and clenched fists. "Yeah, baby! Beg me for it! You know you want it!"
Then, just to spite Davey, Raymond changed the radio to a rap station.
"Hey!" Davey protested.
"Fuck that old hippie crap."
"Leave the goddamned radio alone."
Raymond stared at him in disbelief.
"You do know I'm your manager, right?"
"Yeah, but this is my workspace. I should control what I listen to."
"Bullshit. I'm the manager, and I'll decide what you listen to."
Losing interest in the argument, Raymond turned away from the radio, walked over to the window, and began one of his five minute staring sessions. By that time, Maggie had turned around and Raymond was studying the contours of her ass.
"I'll have her panties around her ankles in month."
Raymond never saw it coming. Like an out of control bull, Davey slammed into him from behind with a full body blow, sending him smashing against the plate glass. The window wobbled in and out wildly, and Davey thought it might pop out of the frame and shatter, but it didn't. Before Raymond could catch his breath and let out a scream, Davey began kicking him and beating on him with his fists.
Raymond finally managed to scramble away, staring up at Davey in terror.
"You're insane! You're fucking nuts! You're fired! Right now. Get the hell out!"
"You can't fire me, I quit."
"No, you're fired, asshole! You'll never get another job as a mechanic! Ever! You're finished!"
"I already have another job. Take your bullshit job and shove it up your ass."
Davey threw his tools in the rolling tool cabinet, wheeled it out to his pick up.
"And another thing, Raymond." he said, turning around for a last parting shot. "If you ever lay a finger on Maggie, I'll kill you, motherfucker. That's a promise."
With that Davey drove off, his face flushed, his heart pounding, but feeling more alive than he had in years.
#
Davey took his regular booth in the Rusty Mug and ordered coffee and a cheeseburger. He had finished the burger and was working on the fries when Rick came in and sat down.
"I thought you didn't get off the mountain weekdays?"
"Normally, I don't. But I told Karshton I needed to pick up some parts. Plus, I promised to drop by the station and talk to Maggie about coming to work for us. The doc can't stand Lisa's cooking. He's desperate for new blood in the kitchen. Not to worry about Lisa; she won't lose her job. She'll still cook for the staff, but Maggie will prepare all the doc's meals, following his special menu."
The waitress came over and Rick ordered a breakfast burrito.
"I hope she takes it," said Davey, rubbing a cluster of fries in the ketchup on his plate.
"I think she will. She sounds interested. It can't be much fun being there alone with Raymond."
"No, I imagine not. Is he still all hot and bothered?"
"Oh yeah. He's pissed. Talks about going to the sheriff, but he won't. He doesn't have the balls to file charges. The truth is, he's worried you might come after him in retribution. He doesn't admit it, but you can see it in his eyes.
"And I might. I'm fed up with that guy and the way he treats Maggie."
"Yeah, the guy never lets up on her. As if he had a snow ball's chance in hell."
"He's definitely not her type."
"Which is ...?"
"Any guy born into the same religion she was. She's a cult member. By birth, not by choice. But it's all she knows. You can't blame her if she sees everything from that perspective."
"That limits her options."
"It sure does."
"Maggie says Raymond's been quite the gentleman lately. Did you say something to him?"
"Yeah. I threatened to kill him if he touches her once more."
"No shit?"
"Yes. And I meant it."
"Nice job, man."
"Thanks."
#
Before he could officially start work, Davey had to meet Dr. Karshton and get his final approval. Rick took him to the wing where the lab was located.
"This is just a formality. You're already hired. But he has to shake your hand, welcome you aboard, give you the little speech about keeping your distance from the zombies, and staying out of the the lab unless you're called there."
"So I'll never be around the zombies?"
"Well, no -- you'll be around them, sometimes. Part of your job is to go on the ride-alongs. He just doesn't want you approaching them unnecessarily when your work doesn't require it, which is most of the time."
"Ride-alongs?"
"Yeah. Most of the doc's income comes from farming, but he also has this little side operation, the 'night rides' he calls them."
"What the heck are night rides? I don't like the sound of that."
"Robberies committed by the zombies. About once a month, the doc sends out a crew -- usually four zombies -- in one of the Packards. They go down to the valley and hit some business that's open late. Usually a liquor store or pawn shop, sometimes a gas station."
"Gas station?" said Davey with alarm.
"Not that one. It's off strictly limits. Well, as long as Maggie's there."
"And I ride along on these outings. What the hell for?"
"In case there's a mechanical break down. A mechanic and electronics technician always accompany the crew. We stay back, a block or two behind the zombie car. We're never in any real danger, gun play and that shit. It's a safety measure, a precaution. It wouldn't do to have one of the vehicles break down during a get away, and the zombies get caught. Most of the time, the mechanic can get it running again. Worst case, we give them a ride back before the cops show up."
"This is the first I've heard about this."
"Sorry man. I should have mentioned it before."
As they approached the lab, Davey noticed a strange greenish light bathing the hallway walls and reflecting off the polished floors. With each corner they turned, the light grew brighter. It was accompanied by a deep, bassy vibration. Finally they reached a set of locked double doors with small windows set in them, the glass reinforced with crisscrossed wire mesh.
Rick pushed a call button to the right of the doors and a crackly voice came over a speaker mounted above.
"Yes? What is it?"
"It's Rick, Doctor. I've got Davey Axton out here to meet you."
"I'll send Caleb to let you in."
Davey gave Rick a puzzled look.
"Caleb is his personal servant -- a highly trusted zombie."
"Oh."
From where he stood, Davey couldn't see much of anything through the windows in the double doors. He considered getting closer for a better view but decided against it. He didn't want the doctor seeing his big goofy face in the window, peering in all nosey-like.
An aged masculine face appeared briefly in the window on the right. It was haggard, with dark circles under the eyes, and a terrible haircut. The skin looked like old leather, a thousand cracks and crevices cross-hatching it.
"He looked like that alive," commented Rick.
The doors swung open and Caleb stood before them. Davey's first thought was that it was like meeting Boris Karloff, in character for his role in Frankenstein.
Caleb didn't smell of death and decay. That was a surprise. Davey had expected a zombie to give off a powerful stench. All Davey smelled was the faint aroma of laundry soap.
"Enter, Gentlemen. The doctor has been expecting you. Please follow me."
His voice was deep, the intonation flat. He sounded weary.
They didn't walk very far into the lab before Karshton appeared to greet them and Caleb bowed and departed.
Off to the right, D
avey saw bank after bank of electronic panels extending into the distance. They were arranged in parallel rows like the stacks in a library. The visual effect was of a concert hall of blinking lights, meters, dials and wires.
Flashes of intense green light came from a room to their left. There were no windows in the door to that room, but the light inside was so bright it leaked out around the casing, outlining the door in a bright glow that lasted only a fraction of a second at a time. From that same room came a low, heavy thrumming sound. Straight ahead, behind Karshton, was a control console on a raised platform. The doctor had been working at the controls when they buzzed him.
The doctor had some kind of nerdy, high tech helmet strapped on his head. It was made of a lustrous white metal, and had what Davey thought of as nodules or electrical components sticking out at all angles, as if the doc was a wearing a miniature tv or radio transmitter and he was about to broadcast the evening news. The nodules resembled spark plugs.
"Ah, welcome, Mr. Axton," said the doctor, shaking Davey's hand in a tight handshake with both of his hands clasped securely around Davey's hand. Davey felt trapped for a moment but ignored it.
"You are a good mechanic, yes?"
"I like to think so."
"Good! We have a great need for one. A man who can keep the cars properly tuned and running smoothly. We've not had that since Max died, poor man."
"Yeah. Sorry to hear about his passing. Sounds like he was an ace mechanic, especially with those older cars."
