by Javan Bonds
“Wow. Somebody’s not sleeping on the pallet of leaves tomorrow.” I joked. Sarah was too entranced by the domestic disturbance across the water to notice.
Harlon began grabbing for the piece of meat and Beatrice tried to pull away. The female struck out and clogged the male across the cheek and down its shoulder. Anyone could see this shit just got real. The now bleeding Harlon took a step back. For a moment, I could picture the monster wrapping its flabby testicles around the other’s neck and winning the battle and the meal through asphyxiation. It drew its right hand back over its left arm and lashed out with a backhand. Holy shit! Does any animal do that? That was too human.
Beatrice was shocked and humiliated, dropping the catch on to the ground. Harlon scooped up the meal with a glint of victory in its eyes. It dashed for the woods, quickly followed by the now jabbering female. There was going to be some trouble at home for those two.
That was the first time I had ever witnessed domestic abuse. My dad never hit my mom or anything. Eternity, the single worst romantic decision in my entire life, from which I am permanently scarred, was only verbally abusive to me, so it was shocking to see even a zombie wife beater. I wanted to call the cops.
Sarah interrupted my thoughts. “Come on, Mo-Mo. The sun is going down.”
I looked just over the trees at the sinking light and shrugged. Maybe I can catch the next episode where Harlon and Beatrice make-up!
You have just experienced one of my depressingly sad attempts at flirtation, I may be like a thirteen year old, but at least I have the courage to speak to her. Maybe next time, I won’t get interrupted by naked cannibals fighting over a dead fish. If I do I’m hoping it will be me and her, you know, having sex and things of that nature, not tearing trout APART.
Mo Journal Entry 10
"WAS A COWBOY I knew in South Texas, his face was burnt deep by the sun…" Smokes sang softly as we loitered around the ditch.
There is no fucking way. I only know three other people that have ever heard "Coyotes," three of my loser friends who randomly scanned for anything entertaining on YouTube at my house years ago. Of course, that is a successful and famous song within a certain group of music fans, and it is possible that he could have heard it at some point. but it’s doubtful Smokes is into cowboy poetry. By the way, I learn something new every day: people out here can yodel. I sure as hell can’t. The Oracle could out-yodel the dude on the cough drop commercials. I was seriously about to search my morbidly obese friend for his packet of song lyrics, but was too entranced by his impersonation of Don Edwards. It goes without saying I was not the only one who almost clapped his hands in glee when it was discovered Smokes was not racially divided in his knowledge of music. I am not an avid Charlie Pride fan, in fact, and I was running low on black country artists after "Kiss An Angel Good Morning" and "The Snakes Crawl at Night." Also, I was not aware it was possible to moonwalk on loose dirt. The Oracle proved again that he could perform wonders after his spot-on rendition of “Thriller.”
We all took a long lunch, peppering Smokes with obscure songs. To everybody’s delight, he miraculously knew all of them. Just as he finished Bad Livers’ "Death Trip," Booker addressed us from the other side of the canal. He was invited over, along with a dozen of his family.
Introductions were made and handshakes were exchanged. Booker named off his family. I’ve never been good with names until I really know someone. I only remember the ones that almost bring on a fit of laughter or are truly memorable in some way. "This is my eldest, Taliaferro, his younger brother, Washington, my eldest brother Martin’s twin boys, Luther and King."
Those names I knew I could remember. Their youngest brother, who had remained at the farm to keep an eye on the livestock with Sojourner, along with his wife and kids, Booker and Martin’s wives, and both their daughters did not have particularly special names, so I figured that meant they would remain on the "insignificant" or “extras” roster. It’s not because of their gender or race, either. I would have remembered Condoleezza, Truth, Queen, or something else poignant or unique. The girls’ names were just boring. I assumed I would remember them once I got to know the people they belonged to. I probably would’ve shit had Smokes’s other uncle been named Tom.
They came prepared to work with a few shovels, and my dad gave one to each of the empty handed. As The Oracle and I started to one of the trucks, he called back. "We’s gonna git y’all some boat cribs!" Not that they knew what he was talking about, but they waved before disappearing into the hole.
"The dock at the Best Western has at least a couple of jet skis tied up. Can you drive one?” I don’t think I’ve been on a jet ski half a dozen times in my entire life. Though I was pretty sure I could remember how to drive the thing, I wouldn’t claim to be an expert.
He looked at me like I had just taken off my Klan hood. "Mufucka, you thank cuz I’s black I’s skured of da wata?"
"No, I just–"
"You just gonna get skood by my mad skills, yo!"
Honestly, I was not thinking that. In fact, I didn’t care if he could drive the dam jet ski better than me. I hesitantly explained, "No, I just wanted to make sure one of us was a decent driver if the other had engine trouble."
He deflated before cracking into a smile. "Oh. Well shit dawg. You betta wear a life vest!”
☠☠☠
Once we unchained them from the dock, the houseboats were relatively easy to move. With both jet skis dragging one at a time, we had all of the dozen floating residences moved over, chained to a pylon driven into the lake, and close enough to each other that they could be accessed by simply jumping from one deck to the other. Looking back, I should have gone inside one. I still had no idea what the interior of these particular houseboats looked like.
We placed them next to Publix Grocery and near the mouth of the southern causeway. If any of the new survivors wanted to look for food not in our parking lot full of 18-wheelers, they could shop. I guessed that Publix was pretty safe as long as they stayed out of the bathrooms. The Oracle and I left our jet skis at the shoreline just in case the Williamsons needed to get to the Cora in a hurry. We walked back to our Humvee near the hotel, which was the hardest part of our new job: walking. I was surprised the task had not been grueling, I don’t think I even broke a sweat moving the boats around. But Smokes almost passed out during our one-hundred yard walk back. I think breathing is pretty strenuous for him.
We arrived at the dig site with more than a couple of hours of sunlight left. I noticed Booker and Martin had retrieved their vehicles and parked them on the island side (some type of Mercedes I had never seen before and a Nissan Titan, respectively). We approached the lip of the chasm just as my dad reached the top. We had a conversation on how the task had progressed.
Smokes gazed over the edge. "Day-um! Y’all got dem Negroes workin’ ovatime!"
I tried to say “Ignore that!" with just my eyes and apparently my dad understood.
He rolled his eyes back at me and spoke. "Do you think you can take Booker to the houseboats just to show them everything?"
“I can do that. Do we need to set them up with some food?"
"Naw. Brother Williamson brought us all some supper and we talked about it. Booker decided they would be more than okay until in the morning, plus they all got bottles of water. They were happy about being close to other living people and the safety it brought."
I was a little pissed we hadn’t been invited to the meal. Smokes was about to dive in the hole to murder some of his relatives. "What da fuck? You mean you let dem niggas eat it all? Pawpaw prolly fixed cornbread, too. Dammit!"
I think he teared up as he kicked some dust into the canal at his family, but no one seemed to notice his rage. My dad grinned. "Yep, he did, but I made sure to save enough for both of you." Smokes nearly exploded with joy, like he just won a trip to Willy Wonka’s chocolate FACTORY.
Mo Journal Entry 11
SURPRISE! THIS IS one of several days in a row I’m
writing an entry instead of spending my time flirting with Sarah like a prepubescent idiot. On the slim chance that by the time you’re reading this she has laughed at my stupid jokes and offered me a pity-humping...you’re welcome. I chose to continue a journal that may never be read by anyone rather than take some joy out of my sad little life. I think I ended last night with the beginning of the first night most of the Williamson family came over.
The following day started like every other day since we started digging this damn canal. Digging a twenty-by-twenty foot trench across about a quarter-mile strip of land is a lot of fucking work. I had not planned on doing anything else but what I had been doing for the past however long I had been doing it. When we met the newcomers in the school parking lot, my dad came over to my window. "Today I’m gonna need you to take Gene over to his place in Hammer’s truck." I smiled and almost told him to call it "the Gorgon” before he continued. "He’s got some useful stuff over at his place."
No shit. Maybe he’ll bring over a warp engine and we can get the attention of some Vulcans…oh come on, you know what I’m talking about. I thought about asking him why we weren’t going to take one of the eighteen wheelers instead of just the pickup.
I thought about it for a second longer. "Wait, you blew up the bridges across all of the causeways, so…?" I let my question trail.
His smile grew impossibly wide. "I’ve had Daniel working on that." He turned and pointed behind him to the causeway we would be using today. "There’s a pontoon bridge waiting. You just need to drag it over with the jet ski."
That was pretty cool. The drawbridge idea must not have panned out and though I don’t know the mathematics or any of that, I’m guessing you could drive an 18-wheeler over a pontoon bridge. I remember WWII footage on the History Channel. They drove fucking tanks over the things!
Smokes shut his door and went to speak to his uncle. My dad leaned in to whisper. "Actually, I’m going to send you, Gene, and Hammer."
The Tech must’ve already complained about the bridge of the "Enterprise" smelling like "tabac" and The Expert would actually be able to help carry heavy things. The three of us met at the Gorgon and started our journey to go get more cool stuff. We stopped on the causeway before the place where the bridge was and the three of us waited in silence.
Hammer looked at me. "Well?"
I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but holy crap. She expected me to jump over to the jet-ski, pull the bridge into place, let them cross, pull the bridge out of the opening, and then swim back to the causeway.
I could picture myself falling and breaking my nose before slipping into the slimy cesspool that is now Guntersville Lake, among a million other possible bad things. I hung my head as I got out and walked to my inevitable doom, shoveling dirt was more fun.
I stood on the edge of the water, knees shaking, trying to remind myself to roll onto my back in the last few seconds I remained conscious after cracking my skull. At least I’d be able to breathe and not ingest any of the poison sewer water into my lungs. In the few moments I remained airborne for each jump, I was proud that I did not scream like a girl and even more surprised that I only got my blue jeans wet around the ankle. Were you expecting them to be wet in the CROTCH?
Where Shopping… Is A Pleasure
WHILE MO WAS off gallivanting with his friends, Randy thought the group could use a little adventure; a break from the monotonous labor and they would see what could be had in the Publix. He wasn't looking for anything in particular, but knew a fully stocked and easily accessible cornucopia of food would be useful with a new group coming to the island. The break in routine would also be welcomed.
Without The Expert present, Randy drove to Bottom Dollar, used the key she had given him, and loaded up a Humvee with a few extra rifles. The members of the workforce not already carrying firearms were suited up with an AR15 or SKS. The party walked a few hundred yards to the grocery store and whatever lay inside.
The survivors entered the mostly empty parking lot and were met with complete silence. Bradley and Smokes had done this before but Randy was somewhat jumpy. He nearly shot an empty plastic bag caught in a gust of wind. Those that experienced Walmart took it all in stride and knew they were safe. Well, The Oracle was always positive of his surroundings, but there was nothing that even appeared threatening to the others.
☠☠☠
Randy pried open the sliding doors and all party members entered. They waited just inside the windows at the front of the store, unsure if they were safe to travel into the oppressive darkness. Randy pulled several glow sticks and was about to crack and toss them before The Oracle simply walked alone into what could have been a zombie lair. No weapons drawn, Smokes moved casually and without fear. After a few moments of stunned disbelief and then no attack, Randy lowered the muzzle of his rifle and hustled to catch up with the obese prophet.
"Are they all like this?" Randy was asking if all large, open buildings were free of infected.
The Oracle understood his question. "Sho as shit, cuz."
This was phenomenal news! Randy couldn't wait to tell his son information he was sure Mo was unaware of, that what they had been suspecting for over a week was true. There was no danger in a grocery store! They could salvage indefinitely and uninterrupted with no chance of being in harm's way! He briefly wondered what would happen if some type of zombie attractant, more enticing than human flesh, exposed itself inside one of these warehouses.
After the eldest Collins began following The Oracle, they were shortly joined by the others. Their collective courage was growing with each step farther into the abyss and a general sense of calm overtook each member of the delegation, seeming to flow from Smokes.
The Oracle made a beeline to the section of the store he would most likely visit, the shelf of snack cakes. He began ripping into a box of unmolested cinnamon rolls. It appeared the peevies had not even taken a stroll through this large, open building. There was none of the leavings usually marking a place one of the undead had stopped—not even the stain of one, nasty coated footprint. Every single item the company had seen so far was completely clean. This building had been basically empty of anything living or un-living since May Day. The bathrooms and smaller areas in the back might have been nests, but at least the main part of the store was pristine.
The rotten meat and spoiled dairy didn't pose much of an obstacle. Insects had taken care of most of this waste and it had become bearable over the last few weeks. The canned food and anything dry were going to be at the top of the scavenger list. Bottled water would also be pretty handy. The pharmacy was also going to be a gold mine. Randy had to laugh; this entire store was now a treasure trove. All he had to do was convince himself taking this stuff wasn't stealing. He knew that he was only doing it for the greater good and that there was no one left to claim it, but he would never cease to battle his stalwart conscience. Stealing was still wrong, it would always be the eighth commandment.
The gangsta figurehead of this group of survivors had no such dilemma and continued around the corner to the untouched pharmacy. The fact that it was attached to such an open area could be why none of the blue monsters were found hibernating inside.
☠☠☠
After a quick sweep of the store, the party stopped at the entrance to the bathrooms and smaller rooms in the back. They were fully expecting peevies to be hiding in these dark rooms. Being completely covered from all other angles, Randy took a flash bang grenade from his pouch and pressed his finger down on the spoon, holding the pin. He looked over to The Oracle and saw no headshake, only an expectant look in those brown eyes. He cracked the door to the men's bathroom and tossed it inside. Shuffling and a hiss could be heard before a loud pop and a flash one could see through closed eyes. This was immediately followed by violent screeching. Randy pushed the door and stepped in with his flashlight on. He immediately dispatched the monsters standing in front of the sink, screaming in blind rage. It was clear from looking at the walls, floor, and e
ven ceiling that the only clean places in this bathroom would be the inside of the toilets. There was a zombie screeching and banging around in the handicap stall and he stepped in that direction to open the door and silenced the thing. As he took a step, he realized that he could just shoot through the stall, no one was going to care. Rather than take any chances, he put four rounds through the thin, plastic wall and sent the creature to whatever hell awaited it.
As Randy cleared out the men's bathroom, a couple of the Williamsons took the women's. Since he was unable to find the pouches of grenades at the pawn shop, the Williamsons were only armed with their guns and glow sticks.
Booker opened the door and tossed in a few before he gestured for his eldest son to step into the door with a rifle at the ready. Even with the soft, green glow, it took a moment for Tal's eyes to adjust. One of the nocturnal demons rushed at the humans. Father and son put at least twelve rounds into the monster. It dropped into a steaming puddle as it voided its bowels, dead before it hit the floor.
Even before the first one dropped, a peevie launched from over the stall and suddenly landed at their left. Not able to draw a bead on the creature until it was close enough for them to smell the fresh feces; it dived onto Booker and went for his neck, the butt of the rifle being the only thing keeping him from turning into one of these beasts.
Tal only realized his father was under attack when hearing the two combatants straining and grappling. He pointed his rifle in that general direction, but wasn't sure enough to take the shot and miss his father.
"Just shoot the damn thing, Tal!" Booker yelled through gritted teeth as he barely held it at bay with the rifle under its neck.
"I can't"
Booker let out a forceful yell and pushed with all his might to throw the monster over to his side. Once the infected was clear, it rose to throw itself back onto the still-downed Williamson. It let out a roar just as Tal filled it with holes. The mirror above the sinks puckered and cracked in places lead impacted.
