by Javan Bonds
Booker was still lying on his back. He dropped his head to the floor in obvious relief. "Well, you got it eventually." The older man chuckled a little bit before his son started laughing as well.
☠☠☠
Randy wanted to ask Booker what happened in the women’s room when he came out of the men’s room, sweating and covered in black handprints. As he opened his mouth to speak, Smokes pulled a round grenade from his pouch. He cracked the door of the family bathroom, slid it in, and stepped away.
That grenade wasn't cylindrical and Randy cocked an eyebrow. "But Smokes, that wasn't -" a squishy explosion could be heard from within the bathroom. Randy slowly opened the door to see the gore of a dozen peevies covering pounds of black diarrhea. Shards of ceramic tile were embedded in the remains of the bodies splattered against the walls.
"Why did you do that?" The elder Collins was genuinely curious.
The Oracle only shrugged off the question. No one in the scouting crew party had a clue that the family bathroom was infested with just what the bathroom was intended for, a family group. Not one of these good people would have been able to put a bullet into an infected child. It was blue, yellow-eyed, naked, and covered in excrement, but they would still only see it as a child. Smokes had saved them all from a burden which would definitely have lead to the loss of several living family members.
Randy opened the door of the office to see a sports coat and tie hanging from the ceiling fan. He smiled, knowing Mo would make a joke about that. He entered the office, glowing green with the sticks he had just cracked, and the door slammed behind them.
He turned, not expecting to see a human behind the door. Well, not a human, a former human. The blue infected stared at him with burning eyes. Randy detected a feral intelligence in that glowing gaze. This peevie knew what it was doing.
Fortunately for all, tooth and nail don’t stand a chance to lead. He raised his pistol, and as he did, another creature came around the desk to disarm him. Two on one didn’t seem fair and he thought he heard a chuckle from the monster in front of him, though surely this was just some sort of gurgling growl.
He briefly wondered why the one that came from behind had not simply sunk its teeth into him. This was planned. These abominations had lain in wait for prey to enter their trap and would enjoy their kill. Transfer of body fluid would mean instant infection, so he didn’t understand why they would bother taking their time…unless they didn't know that fun fact.
Randy laughed and drew his knife. “Come on then!”
The lower creature had come around to stand beside its master and they both closed rapidly. Randy slashed the subservient beast and blood spilled as if from a faucet. The top dog leapt forward as the other fell back.
Randy had backed to the wall and was about to call for backup when the zombie threw itself onto him. The air was knocked out of his lungs and he put both hands around the neck of the ghoul. It was scratching at Randy’s face, going straight for the eyes; it didn’t see the human reaching down for the knife on the floor. The neck of the peevie lurched forward, trying to get a bite of the succulent human flesh. Randy drove the serrated blade into its stomach and twisted up into the chest cavity.
It looked down, surprised rather than in pain. Randy kept one hand around the beast’s neck as he pushed with all his might. The monster seemed to smile as it made one final effort to devour the human below. It reached down to the bleeding stab wound, coating its hand in the infected crimson. Randy forced the twisting blade into the heart as the undead brought its bloody hand up to its killer's mouth and smeared the substance all over his lips. Was he deliberately trying to infect him?
Randy closed his mouth tight and kept it sealed shut, refusing to get infected in such a way. He began jerking the knife around, slicing, pulling free and stabbing into as many vital organs as possible, ensuring that even if he did not, this cannibal would not be walking away from here.
As guts spilled onto him, the disgusting smell assaulted his nose. His head swam; he nearly passed out as the rancid bowels poured over him, still, his lips stayed tight. The peevie seem to grow weaker with each tug of the knife. What had to be every organ in the thing was pooled on the floor below them.
He was finally able to throw his assailant to the side where it lay slack and draining. He sat up and tried to wipe his mouth clean. As he did this, he briefly tensed in anticipation of another attack, but his blade had caught it in the neck and it had bled out on the floor.
He rose to exit the room, heading straight for the pharmacy to find water and alcohol to wash his mouth off before opening it. He didn’t feel as if he had been infected, but he supposed there was no way of knowing for at least a few hours. After all, his friend Walt had lasted long enough to successfully take down an entire room of soldiers before he died.
☠☠☠
The group, wiser and more serious now, was certain they had eliminated all infected in this building and sealed the rear doors. They would find a padlock for the front doors, so they could enter whenever needed. Randy cracked his neck in the open sunlight before hearing a distinct gunshot.
Bradley asked, "Think it's Hammer and Mo?"
Randy snickered. "It'd have to be Hammer. It couldn't be Mo. There was only one shot and I didn't hear a girly squeal."
The man with the monkey on his shoulder chortled as he turned away. Randy turned to face the direction the shot came from just as his radio BUZZED.
Mo Journal Entry 12
EITHER GREAT MINDS think alike or everyone just likes sugar. Hammer gestured to our left as we sped down the road headed back to Wayne Manor. "We should stop on the way back and pick up some honey." There were no flashing signs in the yard reading "Get Your Honey Here" and no visible beehive boxes. I don’t know how this Fredrickson dude went out of the honeybee business; seemed like everybody missed him.
Gene slapped his forehead as if reading my mind. "Everyone that comes by here wants honey." I tried to gently break the news to The Expert. “Gene told us he’s been gone a while. We could still check, I guess...if you want to."
Although I’m pretty sure I heard the whimper of a lost and broken dream escape her lips, she bottled up the massive grief and pushed on with no more discussion of the subject. The Admiral stopped in nearly the exact parking spot I had chosen earlier. Before either of us could exit the vehicle, the man wearing the Jedi robes bolted from the truck and flew through the sliding doors into his extravagantly outfitted basement.
We were in no hurry to get there and we arrived to wait at the door that clearly wasn’t opening. I looked up to ask God for a swift and painless death and pointed for Hammer. "You’re supposed to ring the doorbell."
Her eyebrow raised in a question as she pressed the button. The familiar chime greeted us followed by the obligatory British accented command. The doors swooshed open. Holy shit, you know I love the whole the sliding doors thing, but there could be a horde of peevies only a few feet away. Just open the fucking door, already. It’s unlikely; there’s not a cloud in the sky, but even if only one of them somehow found sunlight tolerable, we’d be standing out here banging on the door and shooting like crazy people. It’s the principle. During a zombie fucking apocalypse you don't keep people waiting on the porch! “Open the damned door, Gene.”
Nothing I said would have prepared Hammer for what she was about to witness. Even though I’m pretty sure she wasn’t a secret geek, it’s still impressive to see this collection of models, furniture, and the ridiculously huge Jumbo Tron. I knew she would get off on the armor and weaponry, thought. The woman was busy killing KGB agents when TNG was on, but her gasp was much appreciated by our Tech.
He answered before I could ask, pointing to another pair of sliding doors. "Take that turbo lift to the roof. I think you will find plenty of solar panels there."
I was too incredulous to ask him what he would be doing while we were on the roof. "You have a fucking elevator? Why did you make me take the stairs last time?"
/> "If there had been peevies in the house, we would have sounded a dinner bell.”
Well shit. He had me there. My only response was to look down at the floor and dejectedly mumble, "Right."
The Expert and I stepped into the turbo lift and I hit the button. This was a huge house, but three or four stories doesn’t take but a few seconds. Not providing minutes for dialogue like onboard the Enterprise, and of course there would be no commercial break right as the doors opened.
Ding! The turbo lift doors swooshed open to reveal a large, black rectangle directly in front of us. Was I supposed to get down on my knees and start praying to this thing? Or step through it to another dimension? Of course, Hammer only saw it as a stand for the solar panels lined up either side and across the top, but I’m surprised that when I pushed the button for the roof the elevator didn’t say, "I’m sorry Dave, I can’t do that." The Expert immediately began loosening the screws and pulling down the panels, easing my tension by proving it was safe to trespass near the obelisk. I began removing the panels on the opposite side, wondering what Gene was up to. He was probably downstairs packing his tiberium and kryptonite. It was not difficult to strip the dark monolith of its magical power cells.
I realized that we had not even investigated the roof before focusing entirely on the solar panels. Supposedly, we were not in danger from peevies on a roof in the middle of the day with no access from the ground, unless they’d started growing wings, holy cow that's an awful thought. Imagine the droppings. Still, we probably should have had a look around. I decided to circle the elevator and discovered a cluster of strange antennas and a giant satellite dish. I really don’t know why, but it made me think of that old Jodie Foster movie, Contact. Hell, he probably had a Bird of Prey parked up here. I wanted to throw rocks until I located the cloaked vessel, but I didn’t want Hammer to think I was crazy.
Seeing no need to rush, we loaded a few of the fragile panels at a time into the turbo lift and had them downstairs relatively quickly. The Tech must have felt his collector’s items would remain safe in a sealed, underground bunker. So, the Bat Cave intact, he was visibly in a good mood as he led our trio to the Gorgon carrying a solar panel. The truck’s toolbox had been emptied of its original contents and now held stacks of fantasy weapons, more medieval swords, and some alien daggers. The dungeon master had obviously been working with superhuman speed. I discovered later that the other end of the diamond plated trunk had been crammed with more suitcases containing strange Comic-Con armor and even more sci-fi costumes. I had no idea where he was going to keep his treasure once we returned to the Cora.
We finished loading and securing our bounty. Hammer started talking before buckling her seatbelt. "I’m going to stop at the gas station before we cross the causeway and get some beer and a pack of Red Man. I want you to cover me.” To make me feel like I mattered she added, "Oh, do you want anything?"
"I’d kill for some of that Dr. Pepper gum." Come on, don’t act like you don’t know that stuff is a true gift from God. Though it may not be as good as the old Dr. Pepper gum with the juice inside, it’s like taking a swig of the drink every few seconds for hours!
We stopped at the gas station, and were greeted by an empty parking lot that would’ve only felt more deserted had there been a tumbleweed bouncing by. The Expert got out and I followed. I took it as a good sign that the place felt utterly empty.
I wanted to whisper. "Just fucking wait a few more days till we start clearing the island. You can’t be that low on tobacco." If she’d heard me I’d be dead.
The hardships of a nicotine habit are understandable. But I’m pretty sure this exact damn scene happens in more than one zombie apocalypse adventure: A trio of main protagonists enters a deserted gas station and ends up getting attacked by a horde larger than any yet seen and only two of the characters make it back. One is bitten and keeps it secret before becoming The Betrayer and biting several of the other main characters. I know I’ll live, according to the zombie prophet, but dammit, I didn’t want to go in there!
Like most businesses, this small gas station had remained unlocked. Convenient, depending on how you looked at it. As I walked to the entrance, I noticed "Gun-Free Zone" stickers, "Moms Against Concealed Carry," "Moms Against Open Carry" decals, and posters inviting me to several events promoting a "Gun Free America." I don’t think I need to go off on a tangent explaining to you how much shit like that pisses me off. You can bet your ass I’m carrying my gun locked and loaded everywhere I go now. The guy sitting behind the counter probably wished he had used his constitutional right to carry one of these evil black guns when his customers started stripping naked, shitting all over the floor, and then attacking him! I hope they bit his dick off and he suffered for days before he turned.
Hammer uncharacteristically ignored the posted rules, making me realize she was either not insane or just a rebel. "Heck yes," she almost squealed. "Here it is!" She started grabbing six packs of Red’s Apple Ale. She was taking the “Wicked,” which actually has more alcohol than the regular stuff, and though I’m not a beer drinker, I almost told her to get some for me. I despise beer, and most ales taste like hairspray, but Red’s wasn’t too bad.
I don’t know where she got the giant paper bag that was crammed full of more beer than was probably legal to transport. I stopped her as she pointlessly closed the cooler door and turned around. "Wait, Hammer. Did you clear this place or just make a beeline to the sixers?"
I wasn’t that far behind her. I knew she hadn’t had the time to check the back or even scan each aisle.
"It’s the middle of the day and the front of the building is glass. I don’t think any tangos are gonna run out here blind."
I shrugged. She had a point and I conceded before following her to the checkout counter on the other side of the store. I briefly wondered if she was going to wait to check out. She then rested her bag on the floor and prepared to jump the counter. The Expert was obviously going for tobacco. Hammer righted herself on the other side and before she could grab another bag to load down with chew, sure as hell, it happened.
There was just enough of a shadow in the corner behind the desk for a peevie to hide. It had been eating an animal or maybe the former store manager, stringy, dripping meat hung from its chin and congealed fluids collected on its chest. The yellow eyed devil was pissed—The Expert had interrupted its meal. The creature rose, ready to spring on the person rude enough to disturb a midday snack. The sudden movement was startling in the dead silence and I took a step back and to the side, accidentally knocking over the paper bag and rolling beer cans onto the floor.
I drew my pistol from the chest holster of my vest. Being cautious and thoughtful like I am, I made sure Hammer was not in my line of fire before putting a foot behind me to brace myself for the shot. The rolling beer cans had not really registered on my mind. In the instant I was airborne, I managed to realize that The Expert was aware of the zombie behind her and could take care of it while I was unconscious on the floor. That is, unless it bit her in the neck and killed her. In that case it would eat her before infecting my sorry, unconscious ass and Gene wouldn’t even know it as he sat out in the truck thumbing through his Magic: The Gathering cards! That would be one of the shittiest ways to get infected with the plague: unconscious on the floor of a convenience store having fallen on your ass tripping on a beer can while one of your armed companions is only a few yards away and the other is playing an RPG.
I was knocked out when I got my wisdom teeth removed, but not being a football player, I can’t remember ever being knocked unconscious by head trauma. I had no clue how long I had been out. The first thing I did was feel over my body for any bites or blood. Besides my massive headache I appeared unharmed. I could hear Gene shouting. "Mo, Mo! Wake up and help me with the Admiral!"
I stood and realized I was still loopy, wondering when we had found a surviving Naval officer before it registered that he was obviously referring to Hammer. I asked, "What happened?"
He stammered, "Don’t know...heard a gunshot, the Admiral calling for backup over the radio…I came in here to find you fainted, a dead infected, and, and the Admiral bleeding out."
I automatically and defensively threw back, "I didn’t faint! I hit my head really hard!" I couldn’t tell if he believed me, he was focused on the Admiral–I mean, The Expert.
"I couldn’t see any bite marks and used a med kit to stop her bleeding. Help me carry her to the Gorgon so we can get her to the doctor."
We loaded her into the back seat of the truck and I got in the driver’s seat. The Tech was obviously too distraught to drive, so instead let someone who possibly had a concussion behind the wheel.
Since she radioed, my dad probably heard it and knew something was up. I grabbed the walkie-talkie from my vest as I turned the ignition and spoke. "Daddy?"
He sounded back almost immediately. "This is Gray Fox. Over."
"Hammer got hurt pretty bad. Can you and the doc meet us at the ship?"
The Western Causeway meets the island at nearly the center. So even though going to them at the dig site wouldn’t have been any farther, I figured the Cora would be a little more sanitary, plus there would be plenty of people there who weren’t really busy doing anything else.
"Mo, this is Gray Fox. I read you and will be there ASAP. Over and out."Dammit, I still need to remember to think up a cool call sign.
☠☠☠
Upon reaching the gap in the causeway, I turned and stared blankly at the paled and quaking Sci-Fi enthusiast over my shoulder and to my right. He finally met my gaze with a question. "What?"
I narrowed my eyes, pointing to the jet ski attached to the pontoon bridge before us. He acted like I’d slapped him across the face. "But I can’t swim!"
