by Ron Tufo
As Steve and Aki were making for the stairwell down, Gary pulled me aside. “Brother. What do you want to do here?”
“Gary, I don’t think I can take out a bunch of infants even if they all are zombie babies now.”
“You know they will eventually be eaten by any zoms we missed up here.”
“Crap. I really hate it when you are right. You know that. Can you see no other alternative?” Gary got that far away look in his eyes that told me he was doing his level best to come up with a different choice, either that or he was gonna upchuck again. I suppose we can leave them. It seems so wrong to me.
Ultimately, we decided to leave the little ones to their fates.
Yes, I will go to my own grave knowing that what we did the right thing. Does that make it pardonable? I guess I will have to wait and find out after I make my own exit from this mortality. In the meantime, the nightmares were going to be horrifying.
There was no doubt that by now everyone knew what we had done upstairs. No one would raise their eyes to greet us. It was Aki’s dad who came and stood in front of Gary and myself and bowed deeply. I felt wholly uncomfortable until he straightened, held our eyes with his, and said: “Arigato, Mr.Talbot-son. We feel much respect toward you and your brother for doing this thing. We know it was not an easy decision, but one that showed us your family has much honor. I am once again pleased that Aki has chosen his friends so well.”
Grandma, on the other hand, gave us the same words she had used for her great granddaughter’s choice of a baby name. It just goes to show you can’t please everyone.
Many hugs and shaking of hands later, we wished Aki and his family all the luck. I thought for sure they were making a mistake, but angry elephants couldn’t have changed their path.
There was still a thick ocean fog as we exited from the hospital. Gary was busy diving into his bag of newfound pills knowing for sure that we would have the medications we needed for both pain and mind. From the grin he was showing, reliving some of his youthful experimentations was also an experience he was looking forward to. Couldn’t fault him for that. I might even look to see if there were a few goodies in there for me, too.
Given that our missions for the day were successful, it was still a somber group that was riding home. Each of us was lost in our own thoughts on how to best deal with the world, such as it was. The fog made for a slow go. It was a definite shock element when I hit the brakes hard, slammed the truck into park and jumped out of the cab.
I saw him. I know damn well I saw him again. The fogwalker Indian guy. I ran toward the beach where he was headed and did my best eagle-eye impression to try and make out the silhouette of a man. He had to be there somewhere; I knew it.
So I jumped out of my shorts and did a face plant in the sand when a voice came from close behind me. “Hello, Mr. Ron Talbot. How are you today?” I had no gun with me. Stupid. I was shaking so bad I probably couldn’t have hit a target six inches away anyhow.
“How do you know who I am?”
“That’s an easy one. I have known your name since the moment I emerged from the fog. Too bad about your truck. It was a nice one, by the way.
Being the gently inquisitive person that I am, I continued with the monosyllabic questioning. “Who the hell are you?”
“Tell me who you see.” Fucken’ great. I get to play twenty questions with a fog bank. Was this guy playing with me? For all I knew he may have had a little too much fire water and decided to take a stroll along the beach.
“I see an American Indian, older man, about six feet tall.” But why the hell are you walking the beach in the fog? I thought.
“Well, I do take walks along the coast. It is what I do.” Wait a minute. I know I didn’t say that part out loud.
I am quite a bit older than I may look, Mr. Ron Talbot. I died in 1803 from the curse my shaman brother laid upon me.” (That I could believe. Brothers are like that.) “My name is not Fogwalker, but Longwalker. Your guess was close, though.” (And I know I didn’t say that out loud, either.) “My task as a warrior for the Passamaquoddy Tribe was to walk the coast, looking for the war canoes of our enemies, then warning my people. I would have been the leader of my nation, but my brother desired to be both chief and shaman–the two highest honors in our culture.
“With his curse to kill me came another curse: to continue walking the coast of Maine forever. I believe that was meant to keep my spirit away from our village so it could not seek revenge upon him. That you can see me only means that something destructive or malicious is happening. For some reason I cannot fathom, I am only visible to one other person at such a time. You are the lucky one. The last time I appeared to someone was in 1960, during the December nor’easter storm. Before that was the Great Fire of Portland in 1866, and before that it was the Purrinton murders of 1806. This is not the existence I would have chosen for my afterlife, but since I am here, it is my hope that someday I will meet up with my brother and punch him in the nose.”
“Why me? What in the world do I have to do with your curse?” Was I really talking to this apparition and believing his story?
“The curse is spoken that I can appear to only one person, one who has the power to change the destruction for either evil or for better. I have no advice for you. I am not even sure what the evil is this time.”
I explained zombies to him. He knew what I referred to right away.
“The ‘sipawasu’. We know of them. It seems you have your task laid before you, my friend. If you see me again, it will probably not be in the best of times. I wish you. I believe you will be needing it. Atiyu.”
Did he just say goodbye, or was he channeling Aki’s grandmother and telling me to fuck off? I stared straight ahead into the fog as my mind blurred for what seemed only a second. When I was able to concentrate again, Steve and Gary were standing over me. Even Gary had a worried look in his face. I looked back at them. “Why are you guys gawking at me?”
Gary concernedly pointed out, “Dude, you were just lying there in the sand jawing at the fog.”
“Aw, c’mon man. Don’t tell me you guys didn’t see the old Indian dude I was just talking with.”
If Steve and Gary were worried before, they were downright vexed out now. Steve offered, “Here, let’s help you up. I will drive the rest of the way home.”
“Not on your life. If anybody is going to mess up another one of my trucks it will be me.” This day couldn’t end soon enough.
Even looking at the soon-to-be-mine new toys as we came up on the National Guard Armory again didn’t cheer me up. We could get the trucks and stuff over the next couple days. This day had just been too weird. Needed to see it end sooner rather than later.
Gary just couldn’t let this remarkable occurrence go by without a caustic snipe. “Dude, you must really be messed up. I don’t think I have ever seen you postpone an opportunity for some illicit trucknapping.”
Unfortunately, I agreed with him.
We pulled in at Doc’s. David did not take any pot shots at the truck. Things were looking up. We all looked forward to checking on the kids and being sure that everything was all right. Doc met us at the door and waved us in.
“So, how was your field trip to the hospital?” he asked. Gary went right for the bags of pills and Doc broke into gales of laughter. We all joined in as Gary pasted on his copyrighted goofy grin. The rest of the story didn’t seem quite so awful with that face as the lead-in.
The kids were still having a blast. Gary and Steve went up to say hello and ask if there was anything they needed from home. I pulled Doc aside and related my experience with Longwalker.
“Ron, Longwalker is part of the Maine coast Indian folklore! Only a handful of people are said to have seen him. They were discounted at best, and called insane at worst. He is said to only appear to longtime Mainers, certainly never to a flatlander. If he has shown himself to you it is because you can make a difference where no one else can. Better you than me, good friend. I am content
to just protect my own and ride this apocalypse to its finish. I have always semi-believed that myth, though. Couldn’t prove it, couldn’t disprove it. Now, I can move it firmly into the true column!”
Wonderful. It’s a zombie apocalypse. My youngest daughter’s boyfriend is dead by my own hand. My oldest daughter is among the missing. One brother is two thousand miles away and another is probably dead. I have shot babies. My trucks are getting totaled faster than I can replace them, and now I have Geronimo telling me it’s my job to fix everything. Simply frickin’ marvelous!
Creature From the Black Lagoon
Standing on the defensive indicates insufficient strength. - Sun-Tzu, The Art of War
The kids had begged for a couple more days at Doc’s home and he was all too happy to oblige. It made for a comfortable evening of beer and stories at our home.
We were really enjoying an evening of adult conversation and relaxation. These nights were too few and too far between. Wink was telling us about some of his previously classified combat exploits in the Middle East. Downright scary stuff, yet they were surprisingly tame and overshadowed by the tragedies Hom told of in the Laotian jungles. She made zombies look like regular party animals compared to some of the atrocities that happened to her and her family. Everyone, including Wink, was mesmerized by her memories of those years. It was so hard to look at this exotically beautiful, tiny Laotian woman and hear of the struggles she had endured.
As Hom wound her disturbing and frightening narrative to an end, there was an uncomfortable silence in the room. I took the evening in a different direction with an old football story–I’m just loaded with great segues.
“Hey Squeak, you remember the time we were playing Boston Tech in the City Championship game and you made an interception?” I looked over at my father, who was looking back at me like “Here comes a big fat lie!” He knew Squeak was an offensive lineman and there was no way to make an interception on offense. Well, maybe there was one way.
“Guys, it was so cool. It was nearing the end of the game and we needed one score to take the lead. Aki threw a long bomb to The Streak,” (We were by no means the best team in the Boston City League but we sure had the best nicknames) “one of our wide receivers, and it got intercepted. Even though the play was still running, we all felt as though the game was over for us. Well anyway, these hotshots from Tech started playing Hook and Ladder to try and ice the game, when they tried one badly timed lateral, and Squeak caught the ball. First offensive lineman to ever make an interception! Awesome. He actually ran for another ten yards with Techies draped all over him. Looked like the Prudential building on wheels. We lost the game anyway, but what a great memory.”
I continued with, “Yeah, we would have won if one of our big ditzy offensive lineman could have remembered which defensive man to block when we ran our next play.”
Squeak retorted with, “Pay no attention to him. He only lies when his lips are moving. If he had run through the giant hole I had made for him he would still be gaining yards.”
The laughs felt great. We all needed something to enjoy, if only for an evening.
My dad broke the reverie with his question. “So, when are you leaving?” He was looking at me. (Geez, this guy is either clairvoyant or still has the best spy network on the East Coast.)
“How did you know?”
“Ron, you forget how long I have known you. It’s not all that hard to see the look in your eyes whenever Melanie is mentioned. Even I can’t stand not knowing what has happened to my granddaughter. You and Nancy must be losing your minds.”
It took me a moment to gain any semblance of composure. “I figured tomorrow I would go and get the kids back from Doc and leave after that. Yes, I do desperately want to find my daughter, but I also feel compelled to tell Ed and Maggie Mitchell what happened to their son, Andrew.”
Squeak broke in with, “You know I am coming with you this time, little buddy. I want a chance to find my sister, and last time you left here without me. That is not going to happen again.”
Gary was just opening his trap when I shut it down for him. “No, man. You are staying here. No way am I taking too much of our ability to defend this place on an extended foray with me. We will be gone at least a week and I want to come back to my home, not a gutted war zone. No, bro. I will feel much better knowing you are here to help defend the family.
Dad closed the deal with his last remark. “Squirm, I hope you and Ron find everyone safe and alive.”
“Yeah, that’s the other thing, dad. I am taking Meredith with me too.”
“You are taking my granddaughter out of the compound? I don’t think so, son. You and Squeech here want to go, that’s fine, but you are not taking one of my grandchildren out there too.”
Wink and Hom wisely did not want to be in the living room any longer as a rather heated TFD (Talbot Family Discussion) was about to ensue. Didn’t blame them. They excused themselves while mumbling about checking their own defenses and made a hasty tactical retreat. I kinda wished I was going with them.
“Dad, I am not thrilled about it either, but Meredith knows all the places where Mel could be. I do not. I am not going down there and leaving any stones unturned. What would be the point?”
Dad looked at me like he was swallowing one of Gabby’s dead squirrels. All that emerged from his throat was a long drawn-out mumble that sounded very much like “You little Shit.” Damn, I think I’d actually made my point when there was no continued rebuttal from him. Even Gary was impressed. I think the last time I won a tactical argument with my father was decades ago. It was about buying my first car. I convinced him I needed it to get to and from school when all I really had in mind was cruising with my girlfriend.
“And don’t go thinking you won the car fight, either. I knew all you had in mind was a mobile bed with a roof on it.” Son of a bitch. How does he do that?!
The girls had packed out the Honda Ridgeline and the Chevy Suburban for the trip. Both the truck and the oversized SUV were dead-of-night black. A distinct absence of any chrome or other colorations on the exteriors gave them a foreboding look, much on the scale of an FBI caravan. Fine with me; this was not going to be any kind of joy ride. Besides, I really thought the Suburban was cool. It felt like being in a rolling luxury home. As they were explaining all of the provisions they had packed, Squeak, Meredith and I were busy ignoring them and checking out all of the weapons and ammo. Once some extra fuel was jerry-canned onto the roof racks, we were good to go.
One thing I did hear, though, was Nancy saying: “Don’t drink anything from the Boy Scout canteen until you really need it.” She didn’t volunteer any more information. I had learned eons ago not to ask for any more, either. Bad for my health.
The drive to Doc’s was mercifully quick and uneventful. Crackshot David was not on guard duty, so even our entry into the driveway was safe and unchallenged. Everybody ran out to greet us. Jerome and Louis were in their Flash and Ironman and costumes. David was none other than Batman; if this kept up, pretty soon we would have the Justice League vs. The Avengers on our hands! Mark came out just a moment later rolling his eyes in a “I have so outgrown this” manner. I think he was just pissed that he didn’t have a Thor costume. Last, but not at all least, a badly sewn, hand-made Wonder Woman comes flying out, swinging her makeshift sword and cheering: “I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves!” Pretty inspiring until she tripped on her cape. Yes, I know Wonder Woman does not wear a cape; any time you want a kick in the shins you can point that out to Iza.
We introduced Mer to Doc. She immediately piped in with, “I thought we were coming to a doctor’s office, not a comic book store.”
Doc looks at me with a smile. “Yup, no question–this is your daughter.”
We all got our hugs and smiles squared away before Doc threw his bomb at us.
“Ron, Squeak, how would you like to have the kids stay here permanently? This was all followed by a pre-teen chorus of “Please! Please,
Mr.Talbot! We’ll be good. We promise!!” How many times had I heard that line? Hell, how many times had I used that line?
“Really, guys. They are so welcome here. I can keep them safe. Since my wife died, this place has been like a proverbial morgue. It makes every day brighter for me to hear them having fun. Truly, it would be as good for me as it would for them to all be together.”
For a moment, I had no reservations and then one slammed into me like a tackle with a free shot behind the line of scrimmage. I looked up at Mark. I could see the struggle in his eyes. He was enjoying his time here, also.
I didn’t dare say a word, but my mind flashed to how much I would miss him if he chose to stay here. Then reality struck and I realized I would have to go home without him and explain it to Nancy and my dad. Oh no…I want to live!
“It’s okay, dad. I want to come home. It’s great to visit and play for awhile, but I want to be with my family. Besides, I think mom would kill us both.” I figured he’d been taking mind reading lessons from his grandfather.
I quietly smiled and whispered into Doc’s ear, ”Fuck you very much! You set this all up, didn’t you? Having the kids standing right here for support when you threw out that question.” His sinister little smile spoke volumes.
After nailing down a bunch of details with both Doc and the superheroes, it was decided that they could stay for another week or so to see how things worked out. That should coincide nicely with my return from Massachusetts, I imagined with the greatest of confidence.
As soon as the roar of the crowd died down, we started to load back into the trucks. I told Mark where we were headed and he flat-out begged to come with us. I thought how much I would want the extra eyes and manpower, but I couldn’t see a way to take him for a week and not let everyone else know where he was if we headed south right now.
