Alive! Not Dead!

by R. M. Smith

  She obeyed everything they told her to do.

  When they led her and the other survivors into a room with a black door, a sharply dressed officer came in the room. He offered them hospital gowns to put over their naked bodies.

  The sharply dressed officer introduced himself as First Lieutenant Lee Washburn. He told them he was here to answer any questions they might have.

  Donna was quick to speak up. She asked “If I do everything you say, will you release me? Can I go free like some people did before?”

  Washburn was immediately shocked. He didn’t know how to address the question. It honestly threw him for a loop. He asked “Who was let free?”

  “It was a couple I met,” Donna said. “They said they had been let free by some guards in Moses Lake.”

  “This couple,” he said, picking up a notepad, “When did you meet them?”

  “A few days ago near York,” she said politely as possible. She genuinely wanted to be free just like the others.

  “Was there anyone else with them?” he asked

  “No, it was just a man and a woman. Their names were Dan Kingsley and Mindy Thompson.”

  “Did you know where they were going?” he asked, leaning toward her.

  “Yes. They said they were going south.”

  “Did you tell them you were coming here?”

  “Yes, but they didn’t want to come here. They told me it was corrupt. I didn’t believe them.”

  Washburn pulled a small pistol from his belt. He pressed it against the side of her head. She cringed.

  He asked “What else did these escapees tell you?”

  “Escapees? They said some guards set them free.”

  “Ma’am, I used to be the commanding officer of the Moses Lake facility. If guards allegedly let these escapees go, then the guards would no longer be with us. They would have been hanged for disobeying a direct order! No, Ma’am, they were not let go!”

  Washburn pulled the trigger. Donna went down into a heap. Washburn then shot the rest of the survivors in the room. When he was finished he walked quietly to an adjoining room. Inside, at a computer terminal, he typed in the names Dan Kingsley and Mindy Thompson.

  Surely it can’t be, he thought. Not the man who survived the plane crash.

  It was.

  Washburn initiated a manhunt. This man needed to be stopped. He was the carrier of the MCON virus. Dan Kingsley was the reason behind the zombie outbreak and the destruction of the world.

  I pulled slowly up to the blockade.

  The man with the shotgun stood his ground. He leaned to the right to check out Mindy as we pulled up.

  I shut off the bike, kicked down the kickstand, crossed my arms and sat there.

  “Where ya headed?” the man with the shotgun asked. His lower lip was protruding. He was chewing tobacco.

  “South,” I said.

  “Ya can’t pass here,” he said as he spat. “You need permission to pass through Johnny’s land.”

  I laughed. “Really? I thought I was driving through Kansas.”

  “Used to be Kansas,” he said. “Ain’t no more.”

  I stuck my thumb back toward Mindy. “My wife and I are wanting to pass. We don’t want anything, just to go through.”

  “Johnny decides who goes or stays.”

  “Let me talk to him then.”

  The man with the shotgun shot the ground. “It ain’t that easy, chum” he said. “You can’t demand nothin. You gotta show Johnny your worth.”

  “I got dried meat in the cooler,” I said. “I have some bottled water. That’s all I have. Is that worth enough?”

  The man stepped closer as he leveled his shotgun at my chest. “You tryin to be smart?”

  “Nope. Just want to get through.”

  A radio in one of the police cars sent out static. A voice came over the radio. “West border is clear. Going east.” It was the same raspy voice we had heard in the C-Mart.

  The man with the shotgun stood there with his gun trained on me

  “How long are we going to have to wait for Johnny to show up?”

  “MEL!” the guy with the gun shouted. “Get Johnny out here!”

  One of the women got into the police car with the working radio. She left the door open when she got in. “We got crossers on the south border,” she said into the microphone.

  “On my way,” the same voice responded.

  Mel got back out of the car. She slammed the door. “He’s on his way,” she said. She was skinny. She wore skin tight frayed jeans, a flannel shirt and a cowboy hat that was too big for her head. She looked to be about 18. Many of her teeth were rotted out. She had short sandy brown hair.

  “Let’s have your weapons,” the guy with the shotgun said.

  “Can we just pass?” Mindy asked.

  “You keep quiet back there, honey,” shotgun guy said as he spat more chew.

  We sat there for a few minutes waiting for Johnny to show up.

  He drove up on a brand new Harley. He had jet black hair. He had a black bandana with a white skull painted on it. The bandana was tied around the top of his head – probably to cover his receding hair line. His arms were covered in spider tattoos. When he talked, I saw that one of his top front teeth was crooked and slightly yellowed. His voice was raspy. He wore dark sunglasses and chewed his gum open-mouthed.

  Behind him on the same bike was his woman. She was thin. She wore biker leather gear. She had skull earrings and a skull earring pierced into her lower lip. Her head was shaved. She leaned way back on the bike with her legs spread when Johnny got off. She looked like she was either in agony or severely depressed as she lit a cigarette.

  Johnny walked over to Mindy and I. He looked us over. Then he looked at the shotgun guy. “What’s this, Teeg?” Johnny asked him.

  “They want through,” Teeg said.

  Johnny chuckled. “This is my land,” he said as he chewed his gum. “Where do they get off thinking that they can get what they want here?”

  “Excuse me, Johnny?” I started.

  In the blink of an eye, Johnny whipped out a switchblade, flipped it open, and had it at my jugular vein. I felt the cold steel against my neck.

  “You’re speaking,” he said to me quietly. “I don’t believe I gave you that right.”

  Johnny’s woman got off the bike. She saucily walked up next to us. She took Mindy by her hair, pulled her head back, and looked right into her face.

  “Net, get back on the fucking bike,” Johnny told her.

  Net gave Johnny a shitty rotten tooth grin. She looked Mindy’s face up and down for a few seconds, then let go of her. “She’s cute. She would work.”

  “Teeg, take the girl.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, pointing at Mindy. “You’re coming with me.”

  Mindy didn’t say anything, but I know she was shaking her head, telling Teeg no. Teeg grabbed her by the hand and roughly pulled her off our bike.

  The whole time Johnny had his switchblade to my neck. I knew that if I made one wrong move, I would be dead.

  My mind raced back to Mits. I remembered the arguments that Mindy and I had had about her. I remembered how I had embarrassed myself in front of Mindy and Mason. If I would have stood up to Mits at that time none of the embarrassment would have happened.

  But this is different! I thought to myself. There’s a lot more people here. If I even try to do anything, my throat will be slit!

  “Dan…” Mindy said. “Dan!”

  Teeg led Mindy to one of the police cars. He shoved her into the back seat. He then got in, steered the car onto the road and drove back toward Concordia.

  I was left there with Johnny, Mel and one other man.

  “Ok Tom you know what to do,” Johnny said.

  Tom came toward me. He had a baseball bat.

  He knocked me over the head with it.

  I went out cold.

  I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up I found myself alone locked inside
a dirty jail cell. There was very little light. I could barely see beyond the gates. On the right there was a dimly lit hallway through a locked door.

  My head ached.

  I was naked.

  I had all my fingers and toes, and my cock thankfully.

  But I was alone, hungry…and where was Mindy?

  I sat in the cell for a long time. I only ever saw one other person. It was only one time during the day; or night. I never knew which it was.

  The person was Mel, the girl from the roadblock with the cowboy hat. She would bring in a tray of food, set it on the floor outside the cell and leave. She never spoke to me.

  The food wasn’t good. I ate it to keep up my strength.

  It was always the same. A cold chicken leg, some lumpy mashed potatoes, a few green beans and a small carton of milk. The only piece of silverware I had was a small wooden spoon.

  Days – weeks, I don’t know for sure, passed. Mel would come in the room with my tray of food. Then she would leave.

  It went on and on like this.

  And on…

  And on…

  The cell stank. The toilet didn’t flush. There was no running water. The only protection I had was one single blanket. It was never washed. It smelled like my sweat. My beard and hair was getting very long. I hadn’t bathed in I don’t know how long. My teeth were covered in scum.

  At night, my blanket barely kept me warm. The jail was so quiet. The only thing I ever heard was the wind outside.

  Once I thought I heard the distant sound of helicopters. I tilted my head to the right as I listened. It was far away – but familiar. The sound was a light chopping sound. I knew it was real. It wasn’t a dream. I listened for the longest time. After a while, the sound faded away.

  Mel came in. She left the plate of food. Then she left. She always wore her stupid cowboy hat.

  The door outside – or whatever was beyond the hall – was locked. Mel had to use a set of keys to get in.

  Silent days and nights. Nothing to do but sit in my nakedness, or sleep with my blanket. I didn’t have anything to write with, no chalk to tally my days on the walls. There was nothing to do but stare at the dirty walls around me.

  Why was I here?

  Why keep me alive? What was the sense of it? Mindy was gone. Why keep me locked up in a single cell? Was it a joke played by Johnny? Did they want to see how long I would last like this? Was it a test? Was Johnny some psycho mad scientist doing strange tests on people? Was he doing the same thing to Mindy in another cell?

  Was Mindy alright? Was she even alive?

  My mind would roam into thoughts I never found welcome. I would see Mindy being tortured by Johnny, his long switchblade at her neck, cutting her skin slowly. I would spend hours worrying about Mindy – my wife, my lover. I cried for her. I banged the back of my head on the wall so many times worrying, wondering if she was ok.

  I wondered what had happened to the little boy in the C-Mart. Why was he hung there? Why cut off the little boy’s dick? Did Johnny do it? If he could do that to a little boy, then what was he doing to Mindy? Did he have her strung up somewhere? Did he beat her on a daily basis? Did he rape her? Did he make her intMy mind would race on and on. I had no answers. It was all guessing. I really didn’t like the answers my mind freely gave me.

  Why had Net - the girl behind Johnny - been in pain? Or was she just aching from riding on his bike for too long? Was she mad, sad, hurt? Her name...what did ‘Net” mean? Did it stand for Annette? Did Mel stand for Melanie?

  I would try to change the channel of my thoughts; like trying to change the channel on a TV. If I didn’t like what I was seeing, I’d change my mind channel. Change it to something else.

  My thoughts would always come back to Mindy. I missed her terribly.

  Rachel crept back into my mind, too, but I quickly shooed those thoughts away. I didn’t need her haunting me in this cell, too.

  I turned my mind back to other things anytime her thoughts came around. What had caused the end of the world? Why weren’t there any more zombies – or sleepers, or stalkers or ramblers… stiffs…or deads, like Tara had called them? Tara and her piercings. She must have been a slut. Taking her pants off in front of me after she pissed her pants. I laughed.

  So alone. So alone in here! Where was Mel? Where was Mindy? Where had all the people gone? All the people in the world… there has to be a lot of people alive somewhere – there has to be. Did Donna make it to Omaha? Was Washburn there? Did she go through the three steps?

  Why did they nuke Salt Lake too? What was the common factor? Why nuke Seattle and then Salt Lake? Was it just to kill zombies or to kill off the virus? Was the virus even real?

  Just Mindy and I, and all of these people in Concordia couldn’t be the only people alive in the world. Why had Johnny set up roadblocks on the outskirts of his town, but not a roadblock on the north side? We came from the north side…we didn’t seen any roadblocks. Surely Johnny had seen more people.

  What was he trying to keep out – or was he trying to keep people in?

  The day after I thought I heard a helicopter, Mel came in, crying. It took her a long time to unlock the door as she came in. It sounded like she dropped the keys a few times coming in. Most of the food on the tray had spilled on the way into the jail cell.

  She set the tray on the floor in front of me. Bawling, she fell onto her ass. She scooted back against the opposite wall as she buried her face in her hands, weeping horribly.

  I didn’t care what was wrong with her as I looked at her. I didn’t care what had upset her. I wanted to see her dead. She was my enemy. She was a part of a group who had locked me up for no reason. The group had taken my wife away from me. I honestly couldn’t have cared less about Mel or what she was crying about; but I took it as a chance to get on her good side.

  I need her to trust me, I thought. If I earn enough of her trust, maybe one day she’ll get close enough to the cell door. Close enough for me to reach out and grab her. Break her neck. Get the keys. Get loose.

  Find Mindy!

  In the kindest voice I could muster I asked “Are you ok?”

  She looked up. Her tears stopped. A voice had spoken to her – a kind voice in a jail cell beneath a dirty blanket. Mel’s hands were covered in makeup. Wiping her eyes, she stood up and quickly left. She locked the door behind her.

  That was a start.

  The next time I saw her, I offered a kind “Hello.” She didn’t even acknowledge me as she walked in, putting the tray of food on the ground outside my cell. Her cowboy hat was tipped down so I couldn’t see her eyes. Was she crying? We had no eye contact.

  As time went by, I became her gracious friend. I would say “Thank you” anytime she brought food in - even though I had never said it before. Or I would say “Hey, that sure smells delicious” or “I hope the chicken tastes as good as last time.”

  I’m not sure how long it went on. Nothing was happening. She always had her cowboy hat tipped down.

  Then I started asking different questions. I asked her about Mindy. I’d ask: “Have you seen my wife?” or “I sure miss Mindy – have you seen her?” or “Can I give you a message to give to my wife?” but, she never seemed to even hear me or even care.

  I’d ask her personal things. I’d try to get her to talk about the way the world ended. I asked her if she had heard the helicopters. I asked her why she liked to wear a cowboy hat.

  I’d use the wooden spoon to make little pictures in my mashed potatoes. I’d make snowmen with the mashed potatoes and the green beans. I tried so hard to get her attention.

  But, it seemed, to her I was just a speck on the wall that needed to be fed.

  For months I tried everything to get her attention, but it was fruitless. I started getting out of bed with my blanket wrapped around me when she came in. I wanted her to see that I was a person, not just a voice talking to her from the shadows.

  I began to wonder what I could do differently to get her to trust
me – or at least talk to me or even acknowledge that I was there. I was going stir crazy.

  Sometimes I hummed when she came in – some song from the past that everyone in the world had known. Something that had been popular, but it didn’t make a difference.

  I’d be at the cell door with a smile, wrapped in my blanket, but nothing happened.

  I racked my brain, trying to think of anything to get her attention. She’s a rotten person, I thought. What would a rotten person like? What would a rotten person want to see? What could I do to make her think I was a rotten person just like her?

  I’d use bad language when she’d come in. I’d say “That fucking chicken leg tasted like horse shit,” or other obscene things; but it didn’t do anything for her. I remained nothing but a shadow behind the cell bars.

  And then it dawned on me. I am embarrassed to even write this, but it’s what I had to do to get her attention.

  The next time she came in, I stood naked by the cell door.

  Mel noticed. She looked at me for a few seconds with the tray still in her hands. She looked down at my cock. She thumbed her cowboy hat up, looked me in the eye, smiled at me crookedly through her rotten teeth. She put the tray down on the floor, turned, and left.

  Evidently, this was the trick that I needed to do to get her attention. And so, I did it. Every time I heard the outside door unlocking, I would go stand naked next by the cell doors. After a day or so, she got used to it. It became normal for her to see me naked. I needed to think of something else to do.

  I started giving myself an erection when she brought the food in. I would rub myself for her. She would watch for a little while, but then she would leave. It wasn’t enough for her.

  I needed to do something else.

  I got to the point where I would get closer to ejaculation when she came in the door. She never would be there long enough to see me cum - so I started masturbating earlier. She would come in the room around the same time every day for each meal. I started guesstimating the time when she would come in. One day just as she set the tray of food on the ground, I came on the floor in front of the tray. My cum actually splashed onto her when it hit the ground.