by Javan Bonds
“They are actually right across the hall. I’m thrilled to introduce you to the HITs and perhaps we can work out an even more permanent solution.”
The doctor was about to stand when Randy leveled his pistol, “Listen you damn camel jockey, we’re not going to have your final solution here! This is a free city and I’m not going to let you make my wife a sex slave!”
That dumb girl might have just saved them! The doctor, a man Randy thought he knew, had called his terrorist comrades to take over the island! He wasn’t sure how they got here so fast, but the mayor was going to do what he could to stop them.
There had obviously been some sort of misunderstanding, Philip George decided, hands up in the surrender pose. Sally fussing around in the office must’ve been what he heard last night; she had eavesdropped on him and heard only part of his conversation. He had been so ecstatic to hear from another Indian that he had ignored the noise and now things have become so misconstrued that someone might get shot.
“Who do you think I am?” the doctor asked, slightly offended; he had never ridden a camel.
“I don’t really care who you are, Mo ham med,” he said the name almost as an insult, “I can’t believe I trusted you. I know the Koran says something about lying to your enemy being okay, but damn.”
What was the mayor talking about, “Koran?” Neither the doctor nor any of the team was Muslim. Maybe something got lost in translation.
The doctor stammered, “I think you may be confused, Randy.”
“You’re the one that’s confused if you think we are going to bend over for your Sharia!”
The doctor needed to solve this before the mayor filled him with bullets or the HITs across the hall came to defend the doctor with automatic weapons. He would prefer neither happen; Mayor Collins just misunderstood.
The Medicine Man could see things going south in his mind. If the mayor pulled the trigger, the other four HITs would rush through the door, obliterating Randy and Sally both. Even if the cardiologist survived the initial shot, the unit would empty their magazines into a man whose only thought was to defend his community. Hundreds of leaking bullet holes would cover the mayor’s body, his single pistol providing absolutely no protection to him.
If he was not dead before he hit the floor, he would slip in the growing pool of his own bodily fluids, sinking down to perish in a gory mess.
“Please Randy.” Still holding his hands in surrender, the doctor attempted to gesture to put the gun down. “I’m not here to hurt you or anyone else, and neither is my team. What must I say to convince you? I am your friend.”
The mayor’s grip eased on his pistol, but he was not willing to be fooled by Ali Baba. “Where are you from?”
The Medicine Man exhaled, deciding to come clean about everything, “I am from Kerela, which is a predominately Christian region of India. I am the unit commander and my team members are: Mahatma, Sanjay, Rajesh, and Kumar. They are Phantoms; a commando unit in the Indian NSG, and including myself, there are five of us. NSG Phantoms are called ‘HITs.’”
The doctor could see a dubious smirk on the mayor’s face and continued, “We are only here to discover more about the origins of the plague; we do not wish to have any part in governing or policing the area.”
“So are you a doctor?”
“Yes. I began my training as a commando; a field medic. After service I finished medical school and am now a cardiologist. From the little we know of the virus, it appears to settle in or around the cardiovascular muscle, so I was sent here to study that aspect of the evolution of the epidemic.”
As the doctor explained further, the mayor began lowering his pistol until it was pointing at the floor. Randy was mulling over the information as it came and finally asked, “But you were in Alabama before the virus hit us. Did you know about it?”
“Not with certainty. Governments around the world were working together to uncover and stop a terrorist plot to unleash this pandemic. Mobile was one of the open doors they planned to use to get into the country. I was sent here as at first as a precautionary measure.”
Mayor Collins was wide-eyed at the revelation that the government might have known that millions of Americans would die; he tried to remain calm by avoiding that discussion for now. Instead he asked, “What about your wife and kids?”
“That was a lie, but I had to keep my cover and I’m sorry about that. No wife, no kids.
I escaped the hospital with my life and your neighborhood was luckily where I found myself. I used the story of a family to gain your trust.
“Hell it worked. You deserve an Emmy for that one!”
Philip George wasn’t proud of his skills at deception; he had merely done what was necessary to protect his true identity.
“I’m not gonna shoot anybody. Bring Mustapha and Achmed and the rest of them in here so I can meet them,” Randy smirked. The doctor frowned at the jab before realizing it was in jest and returned the grin.
The doctor let out a seven toned whistle that the mayor vaguely recognized. Four obviously Indian men entered the room with submachine guns over their armored shoulders. “Mayor Collins, this is Mahatma, Rajesh, Sanjay, and Kumar.” Each man signaled his presence at the doctor’s introduction. “These are my Phantom HITs; we are at your disposal.”
Mayor Collins was surprised and honored that this team of highly specialized soldiers would offer to be under his command. He was taken aback at the insane physical fitness of these special forces soldiers.
The mayor wasn’t a racist; Dr. George had different features from these men, but they all looked blood-related to each other, almost as clones from a movie he had once seen about assassins. It was disconcerting and added to their intimidating appearance.
The mayor introduced himself and shook the hand of each man before turning to face Sally, who stood staring, open-mouthed at the armed troops before her. “Everything is settled now. If you don’t mind,” he gestured to the door, “we need to discuss some things.”
So, Dr. Osama bin Laden had tricked the idiot mayor into believing they were friendly, Sally thought. She was going to laugh when Chris Matthews started making jokes about these morons getting slaughtered. She walked out of the room and decided she wouldn’t be doing any nursing today or ever again. She was getting the hell out of this place as soon as POSSIBLE.
8
The Running Man
BRADLEY GAGE OPENED his gym when things on the island started settling down and it became safe for businesses to operate. He salvaged gym equipment from his house and various gyms throughout the city. He had even been working with Gene on the idea to set up treadmills that could charge the batteries for the building. Since opening, Bradley had been using the name The Running Man as a catchy title for his workout center; he just hoped others could not see the humor in a paraplegic managing a gym with that name. The Old Friend was definitely sure they would not catch the reference to a movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger. Even though everyone seemed busy with surviving in this small safe zone, they managed to keep the workout room constantly crowded, studying martial arts under Master Gage. Mary was beyond happy with this set up; she loved all the visitors even though most of their bodies were strangely devoid of hair.
Yep, Bradley was pretty happy with the way things were going and hoped Mo would hurry up and bring Easy back.
None of these people knew enough to have discussions about fitness, holistic health, or nutrition. They were clueless when it came to carbohydrate versus protein intake, and don’t even get him started on sodium or sugar.
It was difficult to look past the fact that he had no idea what had happened to his mother and father, but he was just thankful to not have to worry about the damned zombies all the time. The last time he’d had to watch a body being devoured by those ape-things was the day Walt became their sacrifice and met his maker. Bradley would agree he had been pretty sheltered. He wasn’t going to deny that the zombies were out there; the former running back just had
no problem with not currently being part of the active cast. He kind of needed a break.
The bodybuilder opened the front door so that he and his monkey could get some fresh air. He enjoyed his daily ritual of a protein shake while Mary, The Innocent, caught bugs. The Old Friend heard the mayor call from across the street before looking up. “Hey Bradley! You ever heard of a PHANTOM?”
9
Chief Engineer Gene Stanley’s Log 2
THESE INDIAN SPECIAL Forces guys are pretty handy to have around. Randy made them the police force while The Admiral is away with Mo. They also do routine causeway patrols. They have their own gear and so declined to wear the RoboCop suits, storm trooper armor, or any of the other warrior gear I was willing to provide. If you ask me, it would have been a morale booster for the entire island to see our protectors as Spartans or Mandolorians.
Mayor Collins has filled me in on some of their back story. He explained that Dr. George has seen active combat; he could have been trained to be a killing machine, like the rest of his commando team. He is still working in the office while they walk around with automatic weapons and ooze intimidation.
The doctor believes he can develop a cure or vaccine with samples his team brought him; this science is clearly beyond my understanding.
Most think I am a technical genius that can do anything, and they are right to an extent, but things like biochemistry and physiology are just not my forte.
I must make a report. The birds have returned! I cannot speculate as to where they have been; I am guessing that they had initially migrated away because of the carnivorous peevies, or “blunatics,” as I have come to call them, but in any case, they have now returned. Perhaps they are attracted to cities full of people.
I’m not sure why birds would be scared of the zombies; they can’t fly, and they are far from silent when they climb trees. Our avian friends only began reappearing this morning or late last night, so I’m not sure if they are flocking to our peevie-free island and to the surrounding tiny, uninhabited islands, or are back to their normal environments everywhere. I will have to research this across other areas and record my findings.
Georgia and Hunter have officially moved in to Excelsior. Hunter is beyond ecstatic to be able to spend most of his free time on my Xbox and Georgia is enjoying all the other pleasures of the uncommon electricity.
She doesn’t mind that I tell everyone: “THERE’S A GIRL LIVING WITH ME!” It feels great to be able to say that. Mayor Collins reported that Mo radioed last night and informed him that the search party would remain in Jefferson County until today. I can’t wait to tell Mo THERE’S A GIRL LIVING WITH ME!”As a final note, a citizen of the City of Guntersville has gone missing. Sally Dick, a nurse that worked for Dr. George. She has vanished without a trace.
There have been no bodies found in the lake, no goodbye letter, nor desiccated body in her apartment. She simply disappeared. I speculate that this could possibly be the first murder on the island after the post-apocalyptic reconstruction–or it could just be that she got bored and wandered off sometime this morning. I will update the situation as I get NEWS.
☠☠☠
10
Mo Journal Entry 5
“CRACKA, I AIN’T got no idea da hell you’s talkin’ bout.”
“While you slept you kept saying ‘Doris…Doris, oh Doris!’”
The Oracle and I bickered as he drifted the plane slowly to the shore. We would soon be making our way to the prison and hopefully, to my brother.
“That’s my grandmother’s name. You got something for old ladies?”
“Dat just a dignified name for a classy lady, fo sho.”
I was actually intrigued. “Really? When did this happen? The only ladies I know with that name have blue hair. That name is just as modern sounding as Rose –Crow’s secret given name.”
I’m still a little pissed she never told me she had a name besides Crow, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I don’t give a shit.
I am now picturing a love scene between Petunia and Rose. Oh Jesus. I need to stop thinking! All I can see is a huge bush of hair!
"Twas back in da day, yo,” Smokes stated with a faraway look in his eye. I couldn't help myself.
"Yeah it would have to be. She’s in her eighties!"
"Listen dick biscuit, I ain't inta dem mature women and I don't even like grilled cheese."
I had to stop and think about that. I threw up in my mouth a little bit as I tried to shake off that mental picture. He had won the argument and I was silent. Following that, I came to the realization that I had not thought about my grandparents since the peevies, and it sickened me. Parents, siblings, and any other immediate family member should obviously be at the top of anyone's priority list, and I was somewhat angry with myself for completely forgetting them. I had found and rescued my parents, the love of my life, and was fairly certain my brother would be alive.
Would they be next? I'm not asking if they are alive (even though that would be great), I'm just wondering if they will be the next family members I search for. I feel shitty for forgetting my pawpaw talking about cows, trucks, fences, or my mommaw's chicken casserole; I tried to put it out of my mind.
Our group began traveling up the curvy two-lane highway to where we had seen the prison. I had absolutely no clue what we would do when at the entrance, maybe we could just knock, ask nicely, and they would throw the door open. Hell, we could even politely take our shoes off before going inside. I've seen movies like this; even if we walked to the gate with our hands up, we'd still be thrown to the ground and violently molested as they searched us. That got me thinking. I looked over my shoulder to Hammer. "Should we leave our guns somewhere before we walk to the gate where there will probably be machine guns pointed at us?"
“Nah, I’m sure they’ll take 'em, but I’d rather them be in a dry building than on the ground. If they are going to murder us for walking around outside the place, it’s not really gonna matter if we are armed or not. Just keep your finger off the trigger.” She looked to each of us as she finished.
I turned to see that our new comrade had Adjutant wrapped around his neck and a pistol in his waistband that I’m pretty sure he didn’t have yesterday. I guess The Expert had decided he was trustworthy enough to carry some protection in the zombie land.
I’m writing this and you are reading it, so I obviously did not get cut in half by a mounted mini-gun, but I was incredulous. Here we were, walking up to a possibly hostile fortress, and had absolutely no idea whether we would be killed on sight.
This was like the first quest when The Oracle and I were only yards away from hordes of cannibalistic nudists all to collect some fucking condiments. We had absolutely no guarantee of the next day, yet trekked across a dead island to add some flavor to bland fish. Now, we were ignorantly rushing into hostile territory and never once questioned our sanity. If we weren’t in a movie, I really don’t think I would be alive.
By the way, when I use the word “walking,” you can take that fucking literally. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with myself or this group. We chose to hoof it for at least a mile like we were Bible characters. Smokes just needs nine more disciples following him.
It is beyond understanding. If I had a time machine right now, I would go back in time and knock the piss out of myself. Not a single member of the quartet even suggested commandeering a fucking rowboat to ease up the damn creek. The group was composed of me, an extremely lazy good for nothing; The Oracle, an extremely lazy, husky drug dealer who will undoubtedly be diagnosed diabetic in the near future; The Expert, a woman who probably already gets the senior discount on her coffee at Hardee’s and is sporting the scars of recent injuries that would have been fatal to the average person. Add to this motley crew the newly discovered Loner, obviously born the same day as the chauffeur from Driving Miss Daisy. Not a single damn one of us had the foresight to say, “Hey, you know what would be a good idea? Fucking motorized transportation!”
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The undead remained in the shadows of the woods; there was enough yardage between us and them to get a shot off if they decided to rush us. We were safe unless one of us started bleeding. We could catch glimpses of these blunatics fighting over pieces of torn woodland creatures, occasionally drawing blood by biting each other on the cheeks. One would rip a stringy piece of meat from whatever random animal the other was tearing into and then the one clutching the bloody feast would turn to snap at the thief.
Rivulets of peevie blood dripped down the chin of the protector of its food to become indiscernible from the other various fluids and bloodstains across the monster’s face and chest.
It was creepy watching the beasts follow us down the two lane road from the precipice of the shadows. They were keeping their eyes on us, surely praying to their blue deity for a cloud to suddenly darken the sky. I witnessed one thing that I have never come across and I immediately wanted to wash my eyes with bleach: peevies fucking. I guess it was arousing to be within throwing distance of food; all the males could pitch a tent with the poles they were sporting. I guess prey just puts them in the mood to hump. A yellow-eyed nudist stood behind a female, skinny as a concentration camp victim, and just went at it doggie style! I’m not sure if Mr. Minuteman typically got in and got out so quick or if the speed mating was caused by the virus, but after just a few seconds he bucked with a shrill squeal. The moment he let loose, so did she. And I’m not talking about an earth shattering orgasm.
