Zombies On A Plane_Still Alive Book Three

by Javan Bonds

  Earl considered making some sort of contact, but thought better of it since he had nothing to defend himself with.

  He had slowly been working his way through Albertville and was somewhere near one of the chicken plants and the National Guard Armory with no real destination in mind. The former truck driver would stay with 431 and go south until there were no zombies or people. He could see himself alone on a beach, drinking out of a coconut, naked as those damn monsters.

  The Betrayer had found enough Spam and bottled water in the house he just left to last for days, if needed. Earl was glad his old job at Frito-Lay had been somewhat of an upper body workout every day, his pack was getting pretty heavy. It had been nearly a week since he had seen any raiders and was confident he must be beyond their territory. He was about to start whistling as his boots hit the road.

  “Freeze motherfucker!” came the exclaimed order from a nervous looking soldier. The GI was standing with a rifle pointed at Earl from around the corner of a derelict car.

  ☠☠☠

  Earl was amazed he was able to talk the soldier out of riddling him with bullets. The Betrayer was overjoyed to have finally come across a soldier, not a stupid redneck marauder clinging to his guns and religion, but an actual government employee. Though no longer in complete control, it was a relief to see a vestige of the old world holding on to some power. It gave him hope that the US Government could make a comeback.

  The soldier, a skinny kid named Private Baird filled Earl in as they walked to the Armory. “Our unit is made up of servicemen from nearly every branch. Our highest-ranking officer is Captain Bobbitt.”

  They entered the front doors of the darkened Armory and rounded the corner. They came to what appeared to be a classroom, natural light pouring in through the windows. Seated was a large man who gave off an aura of a military commander. He sat looking through a stack of papers on his desk.

  Bobbitt, The Villain narrowed his eyes at the newcomer before Baird could introduce him. “Who the fuck is this?”

  The private stood at attention. “Sir, this is Earl Buckalew, a survivor–“

  “Was he bit or something? Why in the hell did you bring him to me?”

  Before Baird could stammer out a response, Earl cut in. “You know, I’m right here.” He opened his hands at his sides before adding, “And no, I’m not infected.”

  The Captain raised his eyebrows in confusion. Earl continued as he gestured to the young subordinate beside him. “My good buddy here was telling me about the people down on the island and what they did to some of your soldiers.” The former truck driver saw that he had Bobbitt’s attention. “And I hid out for awhile with the bitch that shot at you a few weeks ago.”

  Bobbitt’s look of suspicion and anger built. Earl could sense it was probably an inopportune time to take a breath or move at all, but he wouldn’t be judged without at least trying to explain himself.

  Before the officer could burst into an angry tirade, Earl began detailing his story beginning with the day of the outbreak until now. The Betrayer told of his time in the pawnshop, the layout and treasure hoard of that evil redheaded witch’s lair, the horrible way she had treated him, and his yearning for revenge.

  “Hammer,” the captain spoke the witch’s nickname after Earl finished his story. He began to picture the horrible things he would do to this woman he so hated and planned to destroy. His current girlfriend, Sally Dick, a survivor that had also escaped those horrible bastards on the island, told him a little bit about some of the leaders on this supposed refuge. She had not been very close to this “Hammer,” she had not even known Captain Sledge’s nickname. Sally had said she was minding her own business, making her way to her house in Albertville, when she had luckily been detained by a patrolling squad of Bobbitt’s soldiers.

  Jonathan Bobbitt wasn’t born yesterday. He knew exactly what this woman was doing and had seen her type before. As soon as she found the commander of this outfit, she basically threw her clothes off and tackled him. She had only been brought to him yesterday, but the captain had fucked more since that time than he could remember doing in a long time. She assumed that putting out would get her extra protection or privileges or something; Bobbitt didn’t give a shit. As long as she kept giving it to him, she could continue to think pussy would buy her everything left in the world, and even if it didn’t, he was going to make her think it did.

  Sally marched into the dimly lit room, planted herself on the edge of the desk, and looked over both shoulders before asking her big, strong, Army Captain, “Who’s your new friend, Jon?”

  “His name is Earl. He knows a little bit about the people you used to live with.”

  Before Sally could respond, Earl added, “Well, I actually only know about one of them, that redheaded bitch. And, boy, would I love to teach her a lesson or two.”

  “You mean that lady with the eye patch? Saw her truck the first day I was down there and she was flying a Gadsden flag in the back. I’m surprised she didn’t have a Nazi flag on the other side.”

  Sally giggled and Earl forced himself not to roll his eyes. This chick was a moron. He would be more than glad to have the US government in control and was even a solid Democrat. Only an idiot would compare “Don’t Tread on Me” to the Holocaust.

  Still, Earl was curious. “So how long were you down there?”

  The secondary betrayer drummed her fingers on the desk. “Close to two weeks. They were a bunch of stupid libertarians with that ‘right to bear arms’ and Bill of Rights bullshit. I’m just glad I’ve got a big, strong, government man to protect me.” She finished by theatrically collapsing into the arms of the captain.

  She paused before shoving her hand down the front of his pants. She added, “Oh, and I think that Hammer woman disappeared on an airplane a few days ago with a couple of those pirates. I wouldn’t shed a tear if that old bitch got eat,” she chuckled quietly to herself.

  The former Frito-Lay employee dropped his eyes to the floor to avoid giving away his look of utter incredulity. He would be happy to work with these military guys, but he wasn’t sure how long he could tolerate this retard. Especially if she was going to keep making historical references after clearly flunking out of high school.

  The captain broke away from the sloppy kisses of his willing concubine. “So, Mr. Buckalew, do you have any ideas about how to infiltrate the enemy’s camp?”

  The Betrayer scratched his chin as a light bulb suddenly flickered on over his head. “Yeah, I think I DO.”

  14

  Mo Journal Entry 7

  KIMBO FINALLY RETURNED with a map of the prison. She pointed out where my brother was staying, one of the guard barracks. I was expecting to find him in some sort of communal housing, not a private room.

  What the fuck? This didn’t appear to be some type of utilitarian manual listing areas in the prison. This looked like one of those colorful tourist maps full of designs and catchy quotes that you would get from an ice cream shop at a boardwalk! Do they really give family tours of a maximum-security prison? “Felons and Children under twelve get a discount?” I could imagine the family-oriented fun that could be experienced while walking through death row with your young daughter.

  What was Easy doing in the guard barracks? Had he been given an official position with these people? Why wasn’t he being housed in one of the jail cells like is typical in a movie? How many of the people here are former prisoners?

  I probably need to think about and ask these questions when I have access to a human, my journal doesn’t seem that knowledgeable. I had guessed that if my brother was housed there, then the barracks was probably some kind of executive suite or something.

  After walking down the stairs, exiting the building, walking down the sidewalk, and entering the building that the warden had pointed out, we walked down a hallway entirely lined by opened doorways leading to empty rooms. At the very end of the concrete passage, a door was securely shut. Somehow I knew Easy was inside.

&
nbsp; Before I continue, I must ask: where the hell was everybody? I expected the prison yard to be swarming with people, but I had only seen a few office workers, the two guards, the street fighting warden, and not another damn soul. Since The Oracle pointed out that she is The Dictator, perhaps they are all being shoved into giant ovens or being used in strange, basement experiments involving peevies. Would that not be scary as hell? I know you’ve seen Human Centipede. Yeah, let your imagination run with that and be disturbed, just like I was.

  The door was thick, and no sound came through. I had a strange suspicion that my brother was inside because, well, where else would he be? I assumed the thickness of the door had something to do with the fact that we were at a prison.

  Smokes went to knock on the door and I quickly pushed his hand down. “Mufucka, yo brotha not like black people at his doe?”

  I chose not to respond; I’ve been down that road before. I knew exactly what I was going to do–Easy used to do it to me all the time. I planned to burst through the door like Kramer from Seinfeld and scare the crap out of him. I turned the knob and immediately swung the door open, throwing myself through it. In the instant it took me to enter the room in that fashion, so many things happened…most importantly I realized that next time it might be a good idea to not be a complete ass and politely knock before entering.

  My bodybuilder brother was standing on the opposite side of the bed, facing me. He was completely naked. Sadly, but not surprisingly, I’ve seen my brother shirtless thousands more times than I have seen a topless female. Before anger or shock, embarrassment, or even surprise could register on his face, I saw a fierce strain around his eyes–one I’d only seen in bad porno films.

  I would like to say he was only polishing the torpedo, but it’s worse. I caught a glimpse of one of the most beautiful black women I have ever seen bent over the bed in front of him, her perfect, chocolate breasts squished up onto the mattress, her round bottom swaying enthusiastically….Don’t judge me! No guy gives a shit who the dude is as long as he keeps his ass out of the camera! Just as I started thinking that maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea to explode through the door after all, this goddess let out a bloodcurdling scream, released herself abruptly from my lucky bastard brother and fled the room, trying, unsuccessfully, to cover her gorgeous jiggling flesh.

  By this time, Easy was aware of my presence, but was unable to speak. The only thing he could do was make a single frustrated grunt before he finished himself off in a pathetically lonesome arc into thin air. For an impossibly long time we just looked at each other with mutual disgust.

  Every man has been interrupted while trying to squeeze one out, and I’m no exception. My mom has come pretty close to catching me a few times, which she has kindly pretended never happened.

  Once, though, I was caught in the act by a very desirable female friend in high school and I made a split second decision to ask her to join me. I meant it as a compliment, but she never spoke to me again, and refused to partner with me in lab.

  I’ve had only one horribly regrettable interruption during self-abuse and it involved my grandmother.

  　☠☠☠

  I was in my early 20s, still living at home, relaxing on my bed on a rare afternoon off. My dad stuck his head in my room. “I’m going to town and your mawmaw is bringing chicken casserole for supper,” he said as he left, locking the door behind him.

  The sound of that lock clicking and the knowledge of finally being completely alone put me in the mood for a little one-on-one with the Chief of Staff. I shut my door and downloaded a “foreign film.” It was only 2 o’clock–I figured I had plenty of time to complete my mission, but I was sorely mistaken.

  I was wearing stereo headphones. Note: never wear headphones during a private act of violence or while hiking on train tracks.

  About thirty minutes after my dad left, Mawmaw used her key to get in and pulled a Seinfeld on my bedroom door as I had just done to my brother. She came directly to my side, and kissed me on the cheek while my hands were wrapped around my lightsaber, and I was just about to hose down Obi Wan. I couldn’t exit the video, nor could I prevent the final stroke, although I did swallow the battlecry.

  For years I’ve been trying to convince myself that despite the fact she’d brought lunch over on her own, she was too old, blind, or innocent to have had a clue what was going on. However, I can barely eat chicken casserole now; it took me entirely too long to convince that woman she could leave the room and I would meet her in the dining room after I washed my hands.

  “Mo? Come on man!”

  “It seems you kinda beat me to that.”

  My completely shameless sibling had no compunction to put a pair of damned shorts on. He didn’t even cover up, just left it hanging out there for God and…everybody.

  He seemed upset, not glad to see me as I’d hoped.

  At the moment I could completely understand, I would be kind of pissed too, if I were in his place. “Dude, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I have come to rescue you!” I exclaimed, offended he wasn’t thankful I had just crashed his happy time.

  He gestured to the now closed bathroom door, “We don’t exactly need rescuing.”

  “Yeah, I am sorry about that.” I wanted to add, “But you gotta admit that was damn funny.” Ah, maybe he’ll see the humor in it once he put some pants on.

  I pointed to the bathroom and the ebony goddess beyond. “So I’m guessing you know her?”

  “Well no shit, dumbass. That’s my fiancée!”

  I was a bit taken aback. “Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”

  He figuratively face palmed. “You do know that zombies have destroyed the world right? I couldn’t exactly call you.”

  “I’m taking that to mean that the decision was recent,” I said to my brother’s total deadpan.

  In case you haven’t noticed, my brother is not the same type of sarcastic smartass I am; he does not subscribe to my type of humor. I’m sure he cracks jokes and laughs with his friends, witty anecdotes involving professional football players, supermodels getting tipsy, how much better he is at everything than us normal people, and so on. We are just on two different wavelengths.

  “Do you remember this one’s name?” I chuckled as I asked.

  “Man, I told you we are engaged!”

  The fact that my younger brother didn’t seem to understand that my question was in jest made it that much funnier, to me, anyway. I nearly laughed before he answered, “Akambiya,” he paused before I raised my eyebrows for a further explanation, “Akambiya or Aka Ngona,” he finished as if that were explanation enough.

  In my world, a complete conversation between two men can be had with few actual words spoken, and this conversation could easily have been verbally one-sided. Not to say that the speaker must control the direction of the dialogue, just that the questioner should be able to ask most of his queries through facial expressions, posture, and other non-spoken communication.

  I’m not questioning my brother’s masculinity or manhood (that would be next to impossible with him standing butt-ass naked in front of me), he just lives among a different type of people, people who speak rather than grunt.

  He finally decided to lay it all out at my look of confusion. “Aka is African. She’s from Zambia. She moved to Birmingham to study medicine and we’ve been together for close to a year. We’ve been engaged for a few weeks and I hated not being able to tell Mama and Daddy…”

  He trailed off and pleadingly looked at me before I supplied, “Yeah dude, they made it. Hell, they are doing great, even with everything that’s going on.” I waved my hand to encompass the worldwide plague, crazy people trying to be warlords, blunatics, everything. “We came down here on a plane and can take you and your fiancée back with us.”

  “I ain’t sure if–”

  Easy was interrupted by Smokes walking into the room and immediately stumbling back out like he’d been shot. “Listen here you stupi
d crack–oh shit! Get back, get back, lady! Dey’s naked white people in hur!”

  The Expert questioned The Oracle, who replied, “Hellz naw! Dey’s got ‘tess-tackles!’”

  Does it seem strange that I had carried on an entire conversation with my brother and had all but forgotten that his junk was displayed for the entire dead world? I, like most heterosexual men, do not question our sexuality and I am not offended by the nudity of another heterosexual male. We never spend any time at all rating, admiring, or criticizing anyone else in the room, but I guarantee you I would at least notice any other person completely and unashamedly naked in the same room and it would certainly affect the conversation. I’ve just seen Easy’s perfectly bronzed body so often throughout my life, it was barely worth comment.

  As Smokes disappeared into the hall, I decided to act before another person’s eyes could be violated. “Put some damn pants on before Hammer comes in here.”

  He pulled a pair of gym shorts from the floor and slid them on. “Hammer?”

  I smiled, thinking of the similar reaction from our father and the month I would need to catch my brother up on. “I’ve got a story to tell you.”