by Ron Tufo
Gary was happy to take the ride back with the guys. Quite frankly, he was bored. Nothing had drawn any excitement from him in over a week and he missed his adrenaline high. No one had disturbed the fuel tankers before the guys returned. The gates were open in a heartbeat and Gary’s hotwire skills were put to the test. (You really don’t want to know how he became good at hotwiring. This generation of Talbot’s possess so many not-so-legal skills that Tony publicly disavows them as sons if people get to asking too many questions.)
Warming up the Cummins diesel engines takes a bit of time. Steve stood guard as Gary and Wink went inside to search for guns. What the hell, it was a National Guard Armory and Wink was also a believer in the Talbot survival motto. They reached the weapons room only to find it open and a note from Doc Jefferson on the door: “Ha Ha Talbot. Beat you to them.” His note went on to explain that he saw us head this way as we were leaving his house earlier and knew, just knew what we had in mind. Gary read the ending out loud. “PS. If you want any leftovers stop by the house. I might be able to spare a couple of BB rifles.”
Gary and Wink got the biggest kick out of Doc’s timing and humor. He just couldn’t wait to tell me because he knew I would get a laugh from it too. Gary also knew deep inside I would be a little pissed that Doc got all the guns. I am pretty sure that’s what made his smile a little wider.
The scraping noise on the classroom door woke everybody up in a start. Mark had his gun up first and was waving it around the room in a frenzy. Squeak and I hit the floor. Meredith just started yelling at Mark to chill. The scared look in Mark’s eyes slowly slid down the terrified scale to something less animalistic when he began to realize there was no immediate danger. The boy scared the living shit out of all of us. I though for sure he was going to hole somebody. I could hear it now: “Yes Nancy, we were all doing fine until Mark started shooting at us. No, nobody was killed but Squeak limps a bit now and Meredith’s vision is still a little blurry. Yes, I know you are not happy with me. I promise it won’t happen again. Yes dear. Sorry dear.” I could practice all possible responses on our sad drive home.
As dawn came up, we could see out into the hallway a bit easier. We would probably have been better off if the dark had lasted a little longer. The hall was cluttered with ex-nuns. As I recalled, there were about forty of them living at the attached nunnery to the school. The good sisters didn’t attract many new joiners over the years so they were slowly dying out, in more than one way. That was a good thing for us. They were all pretty old to begin with, so when they turned they certainly wouldn’t be moving even as lethargically fast as your everyday zombie.
It took me a minute to formulate an escape plan. I began to explain it to everyone. It was brilliant in its simplicity–even if I do give myself my own ego boost. Leave it to my skeptical daughter to find flaws in an otherwise dazzling tactical withdrawal plan.
“Dad, that’s all well and good, but what if they don’t all take the bait and try to get in the other door before we get out?”
“Don’t worry sweetheart. Squeak will think of something. Right, Squeak?” What are friends for if not to throw under the bus when daughters attack?
Squeak gave me the stink eye and shook his head. “Yes, Meredith. I will think of something to bail your father’s lame ass plan out of the fire. I always do.”
I made sure everyone knew their positions and responsibilities. They may only have one gear, but zombies were nothing if not relentless in their pursuit of fine dining. Everyone stood at the front door in the order they were supposed to be in with a space for me behind Squeak. He had his trusty book cart on wheels and there was one for me also. They were the only things we could find that might keep a zombie who was looking for a hug out of arms’ reach. I gave my kids one final dad command: no matter what happened, their job was to make it to the vehicles, get in, and be sure to unlock the passenger doors for Squeak and me. One final thumbs up and I threw open the rear door of the classroom, stepped out in to the hallway and began to execute my genius-level strategy.
“Here zombie. Here, zombie, zombie…come to daddy for a nice treat.” I am glad I couldn’t see my daughter because the sarcastic eyeroll she did would have made Dr. House proud. Mark was just too embarrassed to even look at me, and Squeak was mumbling about putting the little dwarf (everybody was a dwarf to this mountain troll) out of his misery as soon as he got the chance.
The zombies of St. Joseph took note of the mobile protein that was making an offer to them and started to amble toward my doorway. I tried not to overstay my hallway visit, but for the plan to work it was important that I lured them all into the classroom. The superfluity of soulless sisters moved, and looked, like a group of uncoordinated penguins. As they stared to come through the door, I kept cooing to them and backing into my spot in the line. The moment they got as close as we dared let them, Squeak opened the front door and we began our breakout.
Squeak led our little understrength squad; I was right behind him followed by Mer and lastly, Mark. Of course, the plan fell apart just as quickly as he opened the door. Instead of boldly dashing out into the hall and making a textbook tactical retreat, we all just stood there like idiots. Smack in front of us was Sister Eclair with part of the dreaded yardstick gang fanned out behind her. It was Mark who got us moving. Since he was last in line, the zombies were closing on him first. Gives new meaning to the biblical phrase, “And the last shall be first.” He was understandably not pleased by our lack of forward progress and gently made us all aware of it.
“Move. Fucking Move Now!” Even Squeak jumped at the command. We started to pile up from behind with nowhere to really go, when he did something I hadn’t seen in years.
He brought his left hand behind his back and flashed me an old football blockers’ sign–one extended middle finger pointed down. For the briefest moment I though it was something else and I was opening my mouth for a magnificent retort when I realized what he had just conveyed to me.
No football running back who ever played became a great runner without the best of offensive linemen in front of him. Sure, once I got to an open field I could do my part. I was small, fast, had great moves and a shitload of toughness. But if you caught me before I could get started I wasn’t worth the weight of my helmet. Play over. Curdled cream of Ron on the ground.
Squeak’s extended finger spoke volumes. He would do a quick brush block to the right to nudge the Eclair out of the play then slide left and seal-block the next nun behind her on that side. My job was to stay behind him and then break further to the left to get into the clear, although in this case it would be to hold the rest of that side at bay until the kids made the steps down to our trucks. Yeah, all that in one finger. We had played together for four years and we were really that good as a duo. He would read the defense and use his hand to tell me what he was going to do. I just made sure I followed directions. Everyone thought I was the best running back in the league, but I knew, and I loved making sure everyone else knew, that I had the best offensive guard in the league leading the way for me.
We broke out of the doorway and the kids, courtesy of Squeak and myself, had a free run to the exit from the school. They got to our rides and had the doors open for us as we got backed up to the stairs. Keeping our trusty book carts between us and the bad guys, we made for the vehicles, too. Thank goodness zombies still hadn’t figured out how to negotiate stairs other than falling down or crawling up. As we ran to our respective vehicles, Squeak gave me one more sign only this time it was with that same finger pointing up. No mistaking that one.
We pulled over again when we felt safe enough to do so.
Squeak’s first words: “You know, Ron, I am getting damn fed up with sleeping in places we have to escape from in the morning. There has to be a better way, man.”
“Hey dude, you should be happy I remembered our signals. That was some call, man. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you flash the brush block play behind your back. I must have had a dozen memor
ies stream through me in about a quarter second.”
“Yeah, it was the right call. I just wanted you where I could see you and to make sure the kids got out okay.”
“Hey kids. How about you take the Suburban and Squeak and I can ride together for the trip into Sunnyrock. We have some stuff to talk about.”
“Cool, dad,” Mark said. To his sister it was, “I call dibs on driving!”
I have a singing voice that is guaranteed to clear a party in fifteen seconds or less. So when I started my rendition of Willie Nelson’s “On The Road Again,” Squeak dove for the CD box and grabbed the first disc that he could find. It was my father’s collection and into the player went Barbra Streisand. She got thrust out of the CD player even faster. I do believe it went clean through the window of the house we passed like a flying saucer.
“Squeak, How many people do you figure we have seen since we left Maine?”
“Not nearly enough, Ron. I been giving this some thought, too. We are not even passing a whole lot of moving cars; what do you think? Half dozen or so the past couple of days? If you include them, I still don’t think we have seen even a hundred live people.”
“I figure it the same way. I still believe more people survived in Maine and probably other rural areas than in the cities. But damn, man, there were over a million people in Boston and the surrounding towns and we have only seen a hundred. Even if there are a couple thousand hiding out, that is still freakin’ devastating. I hate to say it, but it doesn’t bode well for us finding anybody.”
We meandered down the roads leading to the small town where Andrew’s parents lived. This time we kept a watchful eye out for people. We still only saw the occasional human face and that was usually behind a gun from a window. At this stage of devolution no one was trusting anyone. Could you blame them?
We quietly pulled in to the Mitchell’s driveway. There were no signs of any activity. I would have been happy to see someone to poke out the window and point a gun at me. Mark and Mer were told to keep watch on the trucks and Squeak and I loaded up and made our way up the front stairs. The sun was retiring for the day and dusk was beginning to take its turn. Why is it whenever I have to do something creepy it is always getting dark?
We had learned the hard way to try and not attract any unwanted attention, but Squeak’s meek knock on the door still sounded like a thunderstorm in the dead quiet neighborhood. Not sure exactly why, but I felt exposed. The proverbial hairs on my neck were at attention. I whispered to Squeak, “Dude, I think we are being watched.” I said that as I was slinking down and angling to get behind him. He beat me to it, falling flat to the deck just as the shot whizzed overhead right where he’d been standing. We both were trying to fit in a space that might have covered us as teenagers but was woefully inadequate now.
“You know I can still see you both,” came from across the street.
“Squeak, stand up and talk to the man, would you?”
“Me?! You do it. It’s your news. You’re the one here to speak to Andrew’s parents.”
“You know the Mitchell’s?”
“No, we just picked this house out of Home and Garden Magazine to tell them they have won a beautiful new gazebo. Yes, of course we know Ed and Maggie Mitchell you dumb fucktard. Why the hell else do you think we are here?”
I felt a tug on my pant cuff.
“Ron–chill, man. You do know that guy is still aiming his gun at you, right? It’s probably not helping if you keep insulting him.”
Aw, shit. “Look, if I stand up don’t shoot me okay? Because if you miss we will have four guns trained on your house and enough ammo to reduce it to rubble. ‘Course even if you don’t miss then there will still be three and they can do the same job. Got it?”
The kids were taking aim from behind the trucks and Squeak had his big Browning already sighted on the window. Seems that our friend across the street had some sense after all.
“Look, I just had to make sure you weren’t the assholes who had raided the neighborhood the other day. I haven’t seen Ed and Maggie in a few days, but they were locked up safe in their house then. I wonder why they are not answering the door if they know who you are?” His gun scoped in on me again.
“Whoa, easy dude! We are just trying to get some news to them. It isn’t good and I’m not happy about doing it, but I have to tell them about their son, Andrew. No shooting. Deal?”
“You know Andrew, too? Good kid. Alright, I believe you–but I will be watching.”
My breath came out in a soft whoosh. I eyeballed the kids with the unspoken message of “keep an eye on this clown in case he decides the truce is over.” They got the meaning of my nod. The Talbot kids were developing the same distrust of people I had. Good.
Another knock on the door, this one with gusto. Still no answer. Not good. We came down off the porch and started a walk around the house. Moonless dark was coming on way too fast for comfort. I was not at all happy at stumbling around in a large inky backyard. As we approached the rear of the house, I could see a small light in the far corner of the yard.
I told Squeak to park it where he was and keep an eye on me as I headed into the backyard. He was on the same page, as his nod to me acknowledged.
I made my way to the greenhouse where the light was coming from. I thought about announcing my presence, but there just too many years of skulking that warned me not to do that. Kind of glad that I didn’t. I got to the glass door and could hear weak groaning from inside. Aw, the hell with it. Nothing good was happening here. I opened the door and yelled. “Ed! Ed, is that you?” The moaning was louder now and intertwined with agony. I recognized the back of Ed’s balding and blonde head, but why wasn’t he turning around?
He was on the ground, propped up by his elbows. There was someone in between his legs! Aw, no way, man. I am not walking in on an old friend at a time like this! I started to close the door and back away, figuring I hadn’t been made yet, when up from between his legs pops Maggie.
Or what used to be Maggie. She had most definitely turned right in the middle of….Oh man. I did not want to know what she was chewing on. My own legs started to clamp together in sympathetic misery–not the highlight of my day.
I can only think they must have been in the middle of some fun in the greenhouse when Maggie went down in more ways than one. Dear lord, I am never bringing up blow jobs to Nancy again!
They were far enough away that I had a choice. Do I shoot first or throw up? Probably a good thing that I threw up in my mouth a little and swallowed my bile as I raised my rifle. If it has to be done, best do it quickly.
Click. Then click again. Eject the bad round. Click yet again. Son of a bitch. I’ll bet the whole fucking magazine is no good. Wait till I get back and see that no good motherfucker down at the Bangor Guns and Ammo place. That little turd log assured me the ammo hadn’t got soaked when his sprinklers let go. He just had to get rid of it cheap because of the insurance claim. I’m going to play Russian Roulette with him and his goddamn wet bullets. They really shouldn’t have misfired; I’m willing to bet they were under water for a lot longer than that ballyanker led me to believe.
No time to call Squeak. Ed was still alive and Maggie was making a crawl toward me. I kept backing up and damn near tripped over the garden hoe. Garden hoe my ass, it was now my weapon of choice!
This time I did throw up. Right smack in the middle of the greenhouse aisle. I kept backing up and Maggie kept crawling forward. Squeak came up behind me and saw what was going on. “Get out of the way, Ron, and I will end this.”
“Get out the way where?” It was a two foot wide path surrounded by belly high garden beds. “Where the fuck would you like me to go?” All this was expressed loud enough to be heard over Ed’s heart piercing cries of pain. I used my new best friend (the hoe, not Squeak) to push Maggie back away from me. She was really getting too close. Then I just plain lost it as I saw Ed bleeding into the dirt. His moaning was getting softer as his life seeped out.
But I was on a mission, by that point, to finish the job I had started. I dare anybody to swing a hoe half a dozen times with all your might, stop and look at what you have done and then pick it up and keep swinging knowing that you are brutalizing a friend’s once human body. Zombie or not, it was far and away the most disturbing and terrible thing I have ever done. Shooting a zombie is a nice clean Sunday afternoon family activity compared to this.
I don’t have much of a memory of the last few seconds of this deed, thankfully, but when Squeak put a hand on my shoulder, Maggie’s head had been raggedly severed from the rest of her, and yet her body was still crawling toward me on auto-pilot. (Anyone wanna takes any bets as to whether I threw up again? Double points if you bet on Squeak leaning in too.)
Ed’s moans were getting harder to hear and his breathing was becoming shallow and erratic. We still had to wait for Maggie’s body to stop twitching. She may not be able to bite, but those arms could still scratch, and it would be just as deadly. It was agony to not be able to get to my friend. I told Squeak to back up and I did too. I took a running start that gave me enough momentum to clear Maggie’s torso before any unwanted scratching could happen.
