by Ron Tufo
Melissa handed him the cord and basket. He hastily shoved the basket through and lowered it down to the entrance.
If it wasn’t so scary, the scene that followed would have been YouTube worthy! Don’t ever try to tell me that dogs don’t have some upper level problem solving skills! All the while barking and backing up, Noodles got into the basket and Andrew started to pull him up. As if that wasn’t amazing enough, they would swear Noodles made a razzing strawberry sound at the zombies–kind of a cross between a growl and a heckle.
There was a small moment of confusion as Andrew found he couldn’t balance the basket and grab Noodles at the same time, but no one else could fit on the cart with him to help out. He had to make a fast decision. He and Noodles were not that high up and out of reach from the parking lot. As Andrew was leaning out of the grill, some of the taller zoms were reaching up and coming too damn close.
He did his best to get an arm under Noodles, who was beginning to look like his bravado had run its course. He was looking at Nikkiye with eyes that said: “Okay, boss, I did my part now get this guy to stop fooling around and take me inside!”
Andrew dropped the basket the moment he got the other arm around Noodles and they fell back into the building.
It was a classic standoff. Zombies looking for a way in; humans looking for a way out.
A woozy Nikkiye was hugging Noodles, altogether happy to be back with his owner, who was feeling the bumps on her head. “Why do I have two spots that are swelling up? I thought I only hit the floor once.”
Andrew took a timely opportunity to study the interesting pattern of the decades-old linoleum. He was just starting to shake all over as he realized some of the shit he had just done.
Melissa was looking at the door thinking, What the hell are we going to do now?
They all stood there for minutes, watching the frustrated zombies watching them, and past that, the peaceful woods they couldn’t reach. A real Currier & Ives picturesque New England scene. No valid ideas were forthcoming from anybody and, in this instance, a stalemate was a losing game.
A weak, childlike voice came from behind them. “Hey, everyone.”
A camera would have recorded that it was Nikkiye who had the highest vertical leap. She was also the one with the fastest retort. “Son of a Bitch!! Don’t ever do that again. Ever!”
Little Iza broke into tears again and all three of them ran to her console her, Nikkiye apologizing profusely for her tart remark.
But Iza had a little surprise for them and recovered quickly. “You guys do know that there’s a backdoor, right? And there’s no zombies out there, either.”
“Iza, how do you know that?” queried Andrew.
“Because I opened the door and looked. That’s why.” Iza gave that last sentence enough little kid smugness so everyone would know how dumb they had been not to figure that out.
Now it was Melissa’s turn to almost faint. She held her head and wanted to scream at Iza, but just couldn’t do it. Instead, out came, “Sweetie, what if there were zombies there? They would have all gotten inside with us.”
The comeback was, “Yeah, but there weren’t.” Perfect eight-year-old logic.
Dear god, out of the minds and mouths of babes, comes salvation. They made for the backdoor. Iza opened it for them before anyone could object. There was just enough early morning light to make out silhouettes, and to Iza’s snitty bit of youthful satisfaction, no zombies around. They figured if they quietly moved to the front of the building, they could maybe sneak past the horde and get to their vehicles before the zoms took any notice or caught a scent.
Great plan. At least it was, until a certain little dog rang the bark alarm.
“Shit,” Nikkiye hissed. “Noodles! Be quiet!” Noodles was having none of it. He had caught scent of the bad guys and his little doggy mind was on the hunt again. It was all Nikkiye could do to keep him from leaping out of her arms. So much for stealth mode. As they came around to the front corner of the building, the zombies were just beginning to react to the noise and smell of the human kind.
The race was on.
Hurry up and Wait
Good things come to those who wait. Better things come to those who try.- Nishwan Panwar
Minutes were hours, hours were weeks, it seemed. I was making everyone nervous as I paced. Didn’t give a hoot, either. I had tried running up and down the stairs to burn off my nervousness. Nancy had threatened to smear butter on the polished bamboo steps if I didn’t knock it off. Wonderful woman. It’s amazing the damage she can do with just one cooking ingredient.
Squeak worked with me to improve plans for our defenses. That helped for fifteen or twenty minutes. Mark even offered to let me play his Nintendo, which should give you a profound insight as to just how much I was annoying everyone.
My family and my friend were decimated by the ridiculousness of the day and were finally running out of gas, as was I, but I was too stubborn to realize it. People drifted off to different rooms in the house to have some alone time and maybe get some sleep. I found myself on my favorite couch in front of the fire, finally and divinely nodding off.
My eyes snapped open. The fire had gone out a while ago. Between that and having the old man illness–having to pee every fourteen minutes it seemed (and I have the nerve to make fun of my daughter’s bladder) I got up, went into the kitchen and flipped the lights on. Son of a bitch, it was 4 a.m. and no Melissa. If she and Andrew were actually coming up, they should have made it by now. I hoped nothing happened to them. I hoped they were coming up. I just hoped!
Should I go look for them? I thought, then immediately: Get a grip Ron, dumbest idea you have had lately. Christ, if they left when we got that cryptic text message then they had been on the road for too many hours already. Not good. Just not good!
To say I was frantic would have been the understatement of the decade. There was no way the trip should have taken the kids this long. Something happened. That was for shit sure and the worst part was I couldn’t do anything to make it better. Much of my fatherhood had been spent teaching my kids how to cope in a world that was not going to be fair to them. We all know life never is fair. I wanted them to grow well beyond their generational shortcomings of thinking they were entitled to anything they wanted just because they wanted it and all things should be going their way all the time. And, it went well, I believed. They had all grown up knowing that nothing replaced an honest work ethic and loyalty to family and friends. I would be lying outright if I said that didn’t make me proud as all hell.
Didn’t mean jack squat when I couldn’t help them or keep them out of danger. Damn, why aren’t they here?
Nancy came up behind me and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “They’ll get here Ron.” Did I mention she could read minds? “They will get here.”
“I keep telling myself that, Nancy. I have to. I’d go bonkers if I didn’t believe it.”
As daylight broke, Squeak and I took a cautious walk down to dad’s house to see how they had fared through the night.
Dad had never got out of the habit of waking up at pre-dawn Marine Corps start the day time. Like a statue of General Patton (he’d kill me if he knew I used an army example for him), he was already standing on the porch looking out over the pond. As Squeak and I came down the hill, my father’s remark told us what he had been doing all night. “Never heard her car come by the house. You haven’t been able to find anything out, have you?”
“No dad. We don’t know anything more than we knew last night. Just praying that they are okay and still trying to get here. Let’s hope for the best.” He gave the shrug that told me how bad he felt at not being able to do anything about the situation also; at least I came by my anxiety honestly.
Thankfully, zombies are as slow to react as they are of foot. That and the fact that they were all clustered around the front door of the diner made the road trippers’ dash to the cars nowhere near as bad as it could have been.
They reached
the Freightliner first and Noodles could be contained no longer. Sensing home and safety, he squirmed out of Nikkiye’s arms and started scratching his way up the steps to the truck door.
Andrew, Melissa, and Iza ran toward their own car. That was when Andrew fell from Superman status for his actions inside the truck stop to lower than the proverbial snake’s belly in a wagon rut. He had locked the keys in the car.
Suddenly it seemed that the zombies had a shot a breakfast after all. The closest ones were only about twenty feet away, which is about a mile and twenty feet too close for comfort. Andrew could see the keys in the ignition. Running around the car and trying all the doors and even the hatch, produced nothing but frustration.
It was Iza who saved the day as a cantaloupe size rock crashed thru the driver’s window. She sheepishly said sorry and that she had learned to throw from her mom. “She used to play softball in school. We looked at the scrapbook together and she would show me her team picture. Sorry about the window.”
As Iza started to work up another good cry, Andrew reached in and unlocked all the doors, grabbed her, hugged her, and threw her in the car all at the same time. Zombies were closing at five feet now. “All aboard who’s going aboard,” Melissa shouted. The engine kicked right up and they put some distance between them and their unwanted admirers.
Nikkiye flashed her lights and pulled over; Andrew followed, pulling alongside her. Nikkiye smiled down. “Well, can’t say it’s been fun, but it has been nice to meet y’all. Can’t raise nobody at home, so I’m heading back; the hell with dropping anything off. Likely won’t be anyone there in any shape to accept it anyway. Hope you make it to your family and take care of Iza…that kid is going to need all the help a good family can give her. Still trying to figure how I got this other bump though.” She looked suspiciously at Andrew who felt disposed to use this moment to pick something (anything) off the floor of the car. “Bye and luck!”
They watched Nikkiye execute a wide turn around. She gave them a cheery, Bwaaahhpp! Bwaaahhpp! and they got a good-bye from Noodles, too, who looked out the window at them with his tongue hanging out.
Melissa blew them a kiss and also yelled a big good-bye. She realized right then, that the world was a big out of control mess. Surviving was not going to be a given. She leaned over, gave Andrew a kiss and told him she would look for something in a while to cover up the broken window glass. Iza was already falling asleep in the backseat.
Being on the far western edge of the state, they were almost as far away from Searsport as they were when they first left Massachusetts. North/south roads in Maine were excellent. The guy who was responsible for the east/west roads, though, must have embezzled his budget and headed for Canada. There was not a single major highway across the entire state. They would have to follow rural, two lane roads coupled with some logging roads, not all of which were paved with anything other than Maine gravel. Often more potholes than roadway, which made for some slow traveling, even on the best of days.
Oh well, judging from what the congestion had been like leaving Massachusetts, maybe they were better off to be in rural areas. Just keep heading east by southeast and likely they would come out very close to Mid-Coast Maine, exactly where they wanted to be.
A few things were going to become crucial for them very soon. They needed sleep, food, and fuel, though not necessarily in that order.
The fuel question was answered almost immediately as they came to their next small town. Oquossoc was hidden in the most northern corner of the Rangely Lake area. Looked like some of the old log and chinked homes were left over from the founding of the town in the early 1800s. The gas station surely dated back to the 1960s. Could still see the faded Pegasus icon for the old Flying A Oil Company over the garage door, memories from a time when there were indeed smaller oil companies with their own local identities. There was a flickering light bulb on inside that boded well for some power to the pumps. Sure enough, they pulled in to a bank of old fashion pumps that didn’t even know what a credit or debit card was. The attendant on duty pumped your gas and collected the right amount, after washing your windshield for you and maybe even checking the oil.
Andrew reached gingerly for the pump handle like it might break if he gripped it too roughly. It took him a moment to realize he had to flip the lever to turn it on. The electric pump motor reluctantly wound up one more time and fuel started to pour out. (More of a dribble, actually, but no one was complaining.) Melissa left Iza asleep on the backseat, remembered with a grin to grab her gun this time, and walked over to the combination office, vending machine, customer service waiting area.
Her eyes focused right away on the coke machine. She wiped a tentative drop of drool from her mouth–yeah…she was a soft drink addict. Hadn’t had her last fix in almost a day. She started scooping dollar bills out of her wallet and one of them dropped on the floor. She bent to pick it up; that was when she noticed the snack machine right next to the coke dispenser. Oh Joy! Now came the dilemma…Coke or food? Coke or food? Decisions! Decisions!
“Andrew, how much money do you have” (You know the old joke, right? If the girl has $5 and the boy has $20, then the girl has $25.)
“Not sure, Melissa. Haven’t checked…maybe about fifty or sixty bucks. Why?”
“There’s a couple of vending machines in here. I want to get as much as I can.”
“Melissa, have you seen anything like a gas station attendant here? Neither have I. And I don’t think there is going to be one anytime soon. In the meantime, break the damn glass and take what we need. Oh, and keep your eyes open for any zombie types!” Melissa began looking for something tough enough to smash through a vending machine. She smiled. Pragmatic Andrew would indeed seamlessly fit into the Talbot clan structure–if she should so desire someday.
Gassed up and snacked up, they pulled out of the filling station. Iza awoke from her nap when the engine turned over and was also discovered to be a Coke head.
Unfortunately, with their bellies newly filled, the last of the three timely necessities reared up at them. They were all exhausted. Making it all the way across the state without some sleep was not in the cards.
So, where does one sleep in the middle of a zombie apocalypse that might feel even a little bit safe? Why, in church, of course! None too soon, they reached the next little village of Byron. A truly old and somewhat dilapidated little church held sway over the town square. White and leaning askew from too many winter storms, the church steeple did not look long for its perch. Melissa thought it resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa; Andrew just hoped it didn’t fall over while they were still in the neighborhood. They pulled in as close as they could to the front door. Locking up the car seemed pretty futile for a whole bunch of reasons, but Andrew did remember to take the keys this time.
The big black door was on pins and swung easily open. Love doors like this one–they look like they are going to take two men and a small boy to open and yet they slide like your hand when hits some pigeon poop on a stair railing.
Once inside, they called out for anyone who might be there. No response…for a bit…then the rectory door squealed open slowly, but no one came out. Melissa already had her gun out and Andrew pulled Iza behind him. Waiting to see what, or who, came through was excruciating, then, from behind the door came a booming, “Be with you in a moment. Just getting dressed!”
Melissa turned to Andrew and asked, “Do zombies still talk?”
Once again, Andrew looked at her and responds gentlemanly. “How the fuck would I know?”
A great smile entered the room before he did. If there was ever a stereotypical version of a country cleric, this was the one they would all remember. “Hello there! I am Father Samuel! Welcome! How can I help you?”
It was Andrew who blurted out what they were all thinking. “Father, are you not aware of what is happening all around the country? I mean, what if we’d been zombies?
“Ah. Simple. I heard your voices; the zombies can no longer speak
.”
Melissa gave Andrew the hairy eyeball, a trick she’d learned from her Aunt Tracy.
“Oh, sure, they make some sounds…but they usually don’t ask if anyone is home!” Father Samuel may have been a kindly old rural padre, but he still had a lot on the ball and was funny, to boot. Melissa, feeling rather sheepish, put her gun back into her pocket before the Father had a chance to notice it. If he did see it, he chose to ignore the observation, for which Melissa was grateful. Pulling a gun on a man of the cloth was not in her usual repertoire.
Father Samuel was indeed up to date on what was happening around his little church. “Frankly, youngsters, you are the first people I have seen in days that are still functionally alive. I have argued with myself quite a bit as to whether I should leave the front door unlocked. When I realized that the undead members of my flock could no longer manage to press a door lever, it helped to make up my mind. I am glad for you that the church door was unlocked, though, as it always should be.”
“We are too,” Melissa replied. “Father, we need to ask you a favor. Can we sleep here tonight? We have nowhere else to stay and we are falling down tired.”
“Why, of course, my child. I do not have beds for you, but I do have quite a few extra blankets and you are welcome to sleep on the church pews.”
Melissa bristled slightly at being called “child,” but understood the way of country pastors. Father Samuel went off to get blankets; Iza offered to go with him and help carry some. Melissa and Andrew went out and secured the car as best they could, parking the driver’s side as close to the church as possible so no one could get in though the broken window.
Melissa asked, ”Why do we need to do this?”
