“So I follow you all the way down to Juarez. Do you know how many fucking dead Beaners are in Juarez? About six hundred fucking trillion. Every last beaner in the fucking whole world was there waiting for me,” he said then hummed a few bars of the Mexican hat dance song before continuing, “But I persevered! I tracked your signal to a bridge that crossed over the Rio. My scanner told me your signal was at the base of that bridge. I said ‘whooo weee!’ He must be hiding down there. You weren’t but you know what was? That’s right; thirty undead mother fucking wetback beaner spics that lunged out at me from under that bridge. I took them down all right, put a bullet in each one of their heads then went under to look for what I was sure would be your undead corpse. The idea pleased me: to find you gnawing on some rotten arm or foot or whatnot. But guess what? You weren’t there! Fuck a duck. You know what I did find? A rubber floatation device. And on it? My little tracking device. I sat there looking at that fucking air filled sea horse thinking that was one sick joke. Real fucking funny shit, yessireee, and I just knew you were out there somewhere laughing at me.
“And then I had a revelation there, squaw boy cunny face. I fell down upon my knees and the light poured into my head from above and I knew what my life purpose was from that second on: to kill you. But not just to put a bullet in your head and watch you die. No sir. Not to torture you for days unit your little girl of a heart gave out from the agony and despair of it all. No sir! But to do all that and then let the dead get at you. That was the ticket. Let them chomp at your vitals and sensitive pieces and parts while you screamed like a pig. Then…and then! Kill off the dead fuckers and let you come back. That was The Vision! Let you come back. I’d cut off your arms and lower jaw, maybe remove your upper teeth just to be sure and I’d keep you as a pet. You’d follow me around like a good dog with that eternal hunger burning in your head. And you’d never. Ever. Leave me. Again. Are you listening? I think you are.
“So I headed north, out of Hatch and into the great big fucking furnace that is New Mexico just to find you. But before I did, I had some fun, made some new friends, had some more fun. But I digress again. You know what they call the godforsaken, barren stretch of infinite nothing north of Hatch? They call it the Jornado del Muerto, the Journey of the Dead. And by fuck they were right! I lost count of how many times I nearly died out there. There were no towns, no gas fucking stations, no truck stops, and no ever loving water. Not a drop. I wasn’t even half way to Socorro and I was crawling on my hands and knees, dehydrated and delirious. And what was behind me? A wall of fucking dead walkers cruising up I-25 like it was some sort of dead gay fucking pride parade! And even as slow as they were, they were gaining on me! Every day I could see them closing in, getting closer. Then I could hear them moaning and bitching every second of every hour. They hadn’t seen me yet but when I could smell them, that’s when I knew it was only a matter of time before one of them spotted me and the rush to get a roadside snack would begin. And I fucking cursed you with every breath I took.
“I lay there on the hot baking asphalt road listening to the shuffling getting closer, the rot filling my nose. But all was not lost. Did I tell you that god had given me a mission? To kill you? I did. So, here I am baking myself on the road waiting to become an entrée when I raise my weary head and what do I see? Right you are; a rest stop. Well let me tell you old son, I was filled with a bolt of energy that got my skinny ass up and hobbling towards that oasis. But the dead pride parade was close and when they saw me standing up, they got all excited and started moaning and howling even more and shifted their shuffle into high gear. I want you to picture this little buddy: old cripples racing. That’s right. It was a race to see if the dead would get me, or I would get to the rest stop.
“Turns out I won! Yes sir! First prize! I got there about thirty seconds before the first wave of dead got there. Just enough time for me to shimmy up a drain spout like our friend the spider and toss my body onto the roof. Oh, the dead were disappointed. They stayed around that shitter for three days before finally giving up and moving on.
“After I recovered a bit, I crawled over to the shitter’s skylight and peeked in: empty by god. I wiggled in there and dropped into that blessed coolness and soaked it in. But man was I thirsty. I nearly cried with joy as I stumbled over to the sink and turn on that water faucet. I could almost taste that water, I got ready for it to pour out into my waiting hands and then…nothing! No water pressure! I wept. Quietly, to be sure. I didn’t want my buddies outside to start banging down the door. I tried the other sinks. Nothing! The whole fucking place was bone dry. Dry that is, except the toilets. Oh, yes, the toilets had water in them. A few gallons of glorious shitwater just waiting for me to plunge my head in. Good thing I hadn’t eaten in days or I might have dropped a big old crap in my only water supply before realizing the rest stop had no running water.
“You might think I hesitated. You might think I considered that every conceivable bacteria, fungus, virus, and disease had passed through someone’s ass and into that bowl where my life saving water was.
“You’d be wrong. I drank until I was fit to burst then I drank some more. And it tasted just like you’d expect shitwater to taste like. I lay there of the floor trying not to vomit up the water I had just drank, then fell asleep. I woke up feeling so much better but still on fire with thirst. So I drank another load of shitwater cursing you with every gulp, then I climbed up out the skylight and had myself a look around.
“Holy. Fucking. Confucius. The dead that had raced me to the rest stop? They had been joined by like every fucking dead stiff in the entire southwest, Mexico, and goddam South America. It was wall to wall dead in all directions. I could see my gear on the road a few yards away. My guns, my food. It might as well have been on the moon. So I had to sit there and watch the dead slowly drifting by and wait for a break or at least an opening of dead and hope it happened before I starved to death.
“It took four days. Four days of watching those pricks kick my crap around until finally, one morning I woke up and there were only a handful of dead walking north. I was patient. I waited until they were a mile away and no more were heading up from the south. Then I scrambled down the side of the shitter and ran to my stuff. I pulled open a can of hash and, oh glory! Scooped out that half congealed gunk they pretend is meat and shoved nearly the entire thing in my mouth. Then I pulled out some soup and guzzled it down. A feast of friends I fucking tell you! All the time keeping an eye out for the mob to return. And you know what, Sunny Jim? They did. After I had eaten my fill and packed my shit back up, I looked back to the south and I could see them coming over the horizon, but this time it was more than just a parade, it was a fucking invasion. But I kept my spirits up! I filled my water pack and canteens just as full of shitwater as they could carry, said goodbye to that rest stop, and I moved north again.
But I knew that I’d eventually catch up to the first wave of dead. What to do? What to do? First, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m smart, yessir, a certifiable genius in cowboy boots! Yeehaw! And when I was laying on that godforsaken molten asphalt with the dead closing in on me, I noticed a thing or two about ‘em; they liked to stick to the road. Yes, sir, they stuck right to I-25 like shit to your shoe. There were hardly any on the frontage roads and there were almost none of the side ones. So I got out my trusty map, found me a dirt road that ran north and away I went. And like magic, I moved north quicker than shit.
“So here I am bubba, just about right up your ass I’d say since I could hear you jawing with that sweet piece of tail up on the mountain. Five miles? Ten miles? Doesn’t matter cause here’s the plan: I’m gonna find you. I’m gonna show you everything you want to know about what I was up to starting with your dead girlfriend Pix. Then I think I’ll cut off one of your feet so you can’t sneak out on me again. Then we’ll head back south to a place I’ve got all set up where I believe you will meet god. But before you do, and I mean just before you do, I have some old friends I want yo
u to see. Then you can meet god, and then your eternal miserable life as a dead pet begins. Yes! Fun, games, and party like it’s…well.. what the fuck year is it anyway? Whatever. So, see you real soon, boss.”
James went silent and the sound of static filled the air inside the plane. Then, as though he had left the broadcast button on, I heard him say, “I gotta take a shit. I wonder if the toilet works here?” then silence.
I stayed frozen over that radio unable to think. Unable to move. Had my bladder not been empty already I would have pissed myself. James had found me. He wasn’t here in the plane but he was so close that it didn’t matter. If I ran now, he’d spot me with night goggles or the dead infested streets would get me. If I waited until morning, he spot me moving along I-40, cut off my foot, and drag me south. Back to Las Cruces where he had killed Marti. Back to Phoenix where he had killed Kailee. Maybe all the way back to Los Angeles where he had killed Pix. The last few months of surviving, all the pain, all the suffering to make it this far for nothing. I felt a small burst of anger in my chest swell to a flood of rage.
The paralysis broke and I pressed down on the talk button on my radio, “Come and get me mother fucker,” I said.
I twisted the nob to shut it off but before I could, I heard James slip in one last word, “Fuck…!” and then the click as I cut him off. I wasn’t going to sit here and wait for that fucker to find me but I wasn’t going to run off into the night and get myself killed either. I had made it this far. I was going to make it to Sandia.
So I got up and got dressed, opened the door of the airplane, and stumbled around like the dead until I made it to my gear. If any of the dead saw me, they were too far gone to figure out I was alive. If any sprinter happened by, well, I’d deal with it then.
I picked up my bike and stumbled back over to the airplane, then tossed my gear inside. I topped my pack off with food and water, repacked all my weapons and ammunition, cleaned the guns, and waited until the pre-dawn began to lighten the sky over the mountains in the east.
As soon as I could see a little light, I broke out of the plane, sealed it back up for the next survivors and headed toward I-40 but when I reached the onramp I just kept on going moving north along Eubank deep into the Albuquerque suburbs. The dead were still out in force but I could see them clearly and could avoid them.
It was far riskier than heading west on I-40 to the I-25 interchange but I had studied the map all night and decided that I would shave off a few miles by heading directly north and James would have a much harder time finding me off the main highways. So I moved quickly through the burnt out areas of Albuquerque, dodged the ever increasing number of dead staying out of their sight, detouring around the weird ones with the radar in their heads, and steadily made my way towards the Sandia entrance.
When my watch said 0800, I turned on the radio and put one earbud in. As I did I heard the end of the last broadcast, “….stay indoors! Again, if you are receiving this broadcast in one of the safe houses or are already inside we urge you to stay indoors! If you are out on the streets, seek shelter immediately! Waves of dead are pouring in from I-40 east, I-40 west, and I-25 south!” I could hear the panic in the announcer’s voice as he continued, “My god I’ve never seen anything like it. It looks like they are storming the fences…” and then the broadcast shut off.
I looked around but could not see the incoming waves of dead yet but I knew they’d be here soon. I was too well conditioned to freeze up and panic on the street so I began looking for a rooftop to climb on and wait out the flood of dead. I spotted a three story fire station and strangely, the top was fenced in. Perfect. I didn’t bother going in and finding the stairs, I just climbed up the side, then over the fence and onto the safety of the rooftop. I quickly set up, then covered my small camp thinking I might be there a few days. I pulled out my binoculars and started scanning the area first from where I had come looking for James tracking me down, then looking for the waves of dead pouring into Albuquerque.
There was no sign of James behind me and to the east or west, and south nothing but endless streams of the dead all moving into the city. James would be holed up somewhere no doubt and I certainly wasn’t lucky enough for James to have been caught in the dead waves. So I huddled down at the edge of the fire station’s roof and watched for the next few hours as the dead streamed by on their way to wherever they were going. I kept one earbud plugged in so I could listen to Sandia if they began broadcasting but for the next two hours there was nothing. I dozed lightly as the sun climbed up into the morning sky but jolted awake when I heard Greer’s voice on the radio.
“Thomas, if you can hear me do not respond,” she said, “We listened to that freak fucker who was talking to you last night and our guys here think he probably can track your radio signal. He got into the B-52 safe haven around eight o’clock this morning.” I felt my heart racing and my breath coming in shallow gulps. Eight o’clock. How long after I had left? An hour? Two tops? Holy fuck.
Greer continued, “I hope you’re OK. I tried to call you at seven this morning to let you know to stay put, to tell you about what we are seeing from up here. That’s when we heard him on the radio and he let us know you were dead, that he had taken care of you and didn’t need to worry my pretty little head about you anymore,” she said crying a bit, “But he’s so stupid and started cursing a blue streak that he’d get you and make you wish you were dead, blah, blah, blah.” Greer then giggled a little, sniffed, then continued, “It’s suicide to be out on the streets so wherever you are just stay put. Once this is over, we’ll come and get you, Thomas. I promise.” She said and signed off.
I had no sooner set the radio down when James come on, “Ain’t that sweet darling. We’ll let me tell you what. I’m all snuggled up tight as a bug in a rug in your little airplane safe house watching the dead just drift on by so don’t you worry yourself about me. I am as safe as vanilla. And when I find that tiny dog wanker and cut him up into little pieces, I might just pay you a visit. And, boy? If you’re listening, and I think you are,” he said directing his attention back to me,” Let me play you a little something special from your friend Pix,” And he did.
Over the radio I heard James click on a tape player and I heard he and Pix having sex. She came, crying out, “Fuck, James harder! Harder!”
“Yeah you like it rough, don’t ya sweetie,” James said on the recording, “Well, it’s about to get a whole lot rougher,” he said and I could hear him slapping and beating Pix as she cried out telling him to stop. Eventually he did as he said, “Are you ready?”
I could hear Pix crying softly and reply, “Ready for what? What are you doing? Don’t fucking tie me up you asshole! The dead could be anywhere!”
“Closer than you think, you sweaty little pig, you slutty little sweet thing,” he said and I could hear Pix struggling against him. After a few seconds he said, “There. All tied up like the pig whore you are. Now I’m going to fuck you up the ass. And after that, a big surprise.”
He raped Pix for what seemed like an eternity. After a while, her cries of pain mixed with her orgasms until they joined together seamlessly. Finally James must have worn out and all I could hear was Pix crying.”
“Where are you going? Untie me, James!” Pix screamed and I heard the sound of a door opening and shutting. A few seconds later the door opens again and Pix starts screaming, “James! What the fuck is that!? Is she dead!? Get away from me! Get away from me!”
“Come on, darling, this is just a friend. Haven’t you ever wanted to try a threesome? A manage a trios as it were?” he yelled over the screaming of Pix and the screaming of what could only be a sprinter. How the fuck had be managed to capture a sprinter, I thought knowing what was about to happen but unable to turn the radio off.
“James no! NO! NOOOOO!” Pix screamed as James let the sprinter go, “I love you James! Don’t let that thing on me!”
“Love don’t pay the bills, Pix ,” he said and presumably ran out of the room.
I heard the door slam shut and Pix’s scream take on a new urgency as the sprinter took its first bite, “JAAAAMMMMMMESS!!!!”
The screaming stopped after a few minutes as the dead sprinter hit a vein or an artery or Pix just passed out form the pain and all I could hear was the thing eating. I heard the recording click off and James come back on over the radio.
“I told you the dead chick had eaten so much of Pix that she didn’t come back. Well I lied,” he stated bluntly, “Here what really happened. I waited for about thirty minutes for that weird dead chick to leave and Pix to get up and start shuffling around. She still looked real good. A bit bloody, most of her neck was gone and a bit of her stomach, but her tits and ass were just fine. And her pretty face or course. So I snuck down real quiet like trying to get behind her, But remember, she was newly dead and real feisty. She sprung on my like a cat on a fish. On my god she was strong, but I was stronger and I got a pair of cuffs on her, then pulled out some rope and hog tied that dead bitch up. You know what I did next? I fucked her. I fucked her cunt ragged, man. Then I fucked her up the ass just like you always wanted to. And let me tell you what pussyboy, she fucked way better dead then she ever did alive. Now, I couldn’t risk a blowjob for obvious reasons so I fucked her up the ass again. I swear I had the everlasting gob stopper of erections. I went for hours, boy. Hours! And I swear she loved every fucking second of it.
“What do you think of that? I fucked your little friend alive, raped her so many times I lost count, fucked her again, killed her, and raped her again! Party time! All the while you stood by and did nothing. And let me tell you this; she liked getting raped by me better than she liked you. After I’d fuck her, we’d laugh about you and your silly little dick. She hated you boy. Hated you. She wanted to feed you to the dead chick! Yes! She wanted me to fuck her while we watched the dead chick eat you. Think about it! That’s what gave me the idea in the first place. La de da! I want you to keep that little nugget in the forefront of your mind until I find you. Then we can talk some more. Bye, bye now!”
The Great Wreck Page 35
