by Javan Bonds
"I’m not that great of a swimmer myself!"
"You live on a sailboat!"
"I probably have a concussion!"
"I have rudimentary medical training. The Admiral needs me."
“Fine. Motherfucker.” We could have continued this yelling match for hours so I just got out of the damn truck and made my way to the water’s edge to do this shit again. I was hoping I wouldn’t knock myself out as I had feared before. He’d have to drag my ass out of the water, but I wasn’t really sure he would or even could. Somehow I managed to not kill myself for the second time and completed the process, as tedious and painstaking as it was. I got back behind the wheel and chose not to speak to Gene until we arrived at the Marina. I hope that really hurt his feelings.
My dad and the doctor were already waiting in the parking lot. The gangplank was down, all the girls were hovering over basins of steaming water, and I had no clue where they’d found the hospital bed, the latex gloves, or the surgical masks. I had not even bothered to find out details of Hammer’s injury and probably should have asked earlier so that I could give more details over the radio. I was still a little fuzzy from nearly cracking my skull, give me a break.
"Before she passed out she told me, ‘it feels like my guts are in a vice!’" That was the only thing The Tech could offer the ER staff.
Dr. George couldn’t get many other details other than observing a stab wound in her lower back. A needle full of pain medicine, what seemed like gallons of iodine, some alcohol, and a small incision made it obvious that the blade which had stabbed The Expert had punctured her spleen. Well, it really wasn’t that obvious to me, my medical expertise consisted of a C in anatomy class, Doogie Houser, M.D. and Diagnosis Murder. I didn’t have microscope eyes that could see into a tiny cut in her back and even if I could I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a spleen and a pancreas or an appendix. I saw no point in being close enough to get blood or any of that shit on me so just sat on the hood of the Humvee while the doctor and his assistants—all of the women folk acting as nurses, put the Six Million Dollar Woman back together.
During one of his infrequent and short respites, I asked the Starfleet Medical Assistant, who was probably wishing for a tricorder and some synthehol for himself, "Are you sure she wasn’t bit?"
He looked at me as if I was stupid. "It’s clearly a stab wound."
That was somewhat offensive, I was medically illiterate, not retarded. "I know that! I’m asking if she might have been bit somewhere else."
It may sound cold, but I think it’s kind of wasteful to spend time and materials on someone if they are just going to turn anyway. I mean if I get infected, just give me some booze, a pistol, and let me take a walk down the highway. I’d want to go out with some kind of class, in my own time, without jacking up any of my friends. Hammer probably would’ve said something to the same effect if she had been infected and conscious.
I was about to say that when Gene was asked to give details. He narrated the movie scene that ran through my mind. "Admiral Daala was reaching above her head for a carton of menthol cigarettes when a peevie launched itself from the shadows, stark naked and covered in fresh blood and gore from whatever it had been eviscerating. Mo shouted a warning from the other side of the counter and drew his pistol. The one-eyed Imperial…err…Hammer immediately turned to see a psychotic monster.” He looked around; we were hanging on his words, which really fueled the narrative. "Who had been disturbed from his mid-day snack. The civilian," he looked at me, "I mean Mo, slipped on some rogue beverage containers, screamed a profanity, and was knocked unconscious when he landed on his back." He paused for effect, no one spoke–they were incredulous at his graphic retelling. "The Admiral saw this in her peripherals as the undead cannibal threw itself into the air. Before she could jump out of the way and give it a roundhouse kick, it landed on her, teeth uselessly digging into the shoulder of her armor," he glanced at me to make sure I’d heard that part. "Her knee flew into its groin, apparently causing the same insurmountable pain of any uninfected male. It staggered back, gasping and whimpering and never even saw the Admiral raise her side arm or the bullet that caught it in the forehead and splattered its brains on the wall behind it." He drew breath and reset. "In the few seconds it took to make the thing retreat and end its existence, she fell back from the first blow. The recoil from the fired pistol increased her momentum. Her back planted against the counter before she slid quickly down to the floor. At some point on the way down, something sharp went up under her armor." He appeared finished, then decided to add just a little more. "The pain was so indescribably intense, she could do nothing more than call for a corpsman."
"Wow," we said collectively.
☠☠☠
The next morning, I took the Gorgon back across the Western Causeway to discover what could have possibly punctured Hammer’s spleen. I don’t know why, but I decided Gene should accompany me. I mean really, why can’t I get a side kick that can fucking swim? I need to find some of those flotation devices that little kids wear around their arms and throw him and Smokes off the Cora.
We got across the pontoon bridge with only a few hateful words exchanged. Nothing worse than any fight Easy and I had ever had. I walked into the Water’s Edge gas station. You know, the stupid names for all of these businesses were getting kind of old. There was a water treatment plant on the island that was directly across from this place that I always assumed dumped human waste directly into the water. Just stop trying to be kitschy…I’m not going to feel like I’m on the seaside just because you have a damn swordfish in the window!
Anyway, we were at the ready with our rifles just in case a peevie decided we might taste good enough to come into the light. Thankfully, we were greeted by no hostiles. Besides the dried brains smeared on the wall, the headless zombie The Expert had eliminated was missing, and that bothered me. Did the other infected collect the body? I had not really thought they would be actual cannibals, I mean, I knew they would eat us, but would they eat each other? I briefly pictured a zombie burial ground. I walked over to the counter where our very own Lara Croft had fallen and sure enough, I spotted a sharp blade poking out from underneath the counter. Upon closer inspection, I found what could only be described as a shit-ton of knives and swords. What the hell? The manager of the store wouldn’t have been able to force himself to shoot a robber, but he could go all "Rambo" and fillet the guy? Damn, I would rather be shot than chopped into pieces!
"Holy slice and dice, Batman!" The Tech squealed.
I turned to see Gene staring in awe at the collection of cutlery. I asked, "Yeah, you want these?"
"You bet your arse I do. They go great with these!" He raised his hands and extended his adamantium claws, racing to the new blades like a kid at a pie eating contest.
"So, Mr. Anti-Second Amendment just preferred to make it up close and personal,” I mumbled as I backed away. "Well, while we are over here, is there anything else at your house you want to pick up?"
He thought about it. "I do have a Sega Genesis and N64 I’d like to grab."
My knees almost buckled. "What? Why the hell didn’t you mention that before?" Streets of Rage and Super Smash Bros. It doesn’t get much BETTER.
Mo Journal Entry 13
AFTER A FEW days, The Medicine Man decided Hammer was well enough that her round-the-clock observation could be discontinued. Since she is a super soldier and in top physical condition she recovered faster than most people would have. Plus she was a tough old bird and just didn’t give in to pain. The surgical operation and post-op care of Hammer made him realize our growing island community would need a doctor’s office as close to full-time as possible.
I wasn’t sure how, but I was able to attach myself to the doctor, keeping me from being part of the forced labor detail digging the canal. Instead of working like a concentration camp slave, I landed the prestigious job of emptying the town of its medical supplies.
Smokes was the second half
of my two-man salvage team. Looking back, I’m sure my dad tasked us as a pair for this job because he believed when The Oracle said I couldn’t die and knew I would be safe going into all the little supply shops. Or maybe because he knew this job was going to be a bitch. I originally thought he might just be giving me a break from shoveling, he wanted me to learn more of the zombie gospel, or (unlikely) he thought that I might be good at finding medical equipment. No. I understand now that I would not be given a chore unless it was more difficult than the last! At least for this one all of the offices were located on the island and I wouldn’t have to throw myself onto a jet ski.
Because of the large windows in the waiting rooms of the island’s doctor’s offices and the fact that every patient room also had a window, these buildings were usually free of peevies. However, at the beginning of the plague, doctor’s offices were hit pretty hard by the infected. I guess it goes without saying that sick people would come to these offices to get medication for their ailments. That was obvious with all the dried blood and stinking offal sprayed on the walls. Just in case you have not experienced zombie shit, know that it does not turn white and become odorless when it gets old. Fortunately for us, they didn’t hang around.
Other than maybe in the bathrooms, the naked undead remained relatively absent from the offices. Despite what my Old Friend had pulled on me, I had the bright idea to go into a bathroom in one office. It just so happened to be the bathroom at Lakeshore Clinic, The Medicine Man’s planned home and the final doctor’s office we would visit.
☠☠☠
“Ain’t no blue peoples up in hur, mufucka.” The Oracle had just circled the hallway leading to exam rooms as I had been doing on the opposite side of the building.
We met up in the waiting room at the front of the building. Nearly encased in glass on three sides, this was actually just as safe as being outside. I pointed to the only other room connected to this one—the unisex bathroom, which had no windows.
"What about in there?"
He shook his head. "I ain't fallin' fo dat shit, white bread. You think I'm stupid?"
"No, I–" he cut me off like usual.
"It's cuz I'm black, right?"
I grew defensive. "No! Why would I think–"
"Zactly! Why would you think when you could just hate da black guy?"
"I'm not racist!"
"Bullshit. Prove it.”
“Fine! I'll go in there myself.” I stomped to the bathroom and imminent death, not fully understanding that he had just played me like a fiddle. This scene had played out on Looney Tunes in nearly the exact same way hundreds of times. What the hell is wrong with me? I stopped at the door, using my obviously massive intellect to think about my next move. I stepped behind the jamb and drew a flash bang, ready to make a boom. I used the barrel of my rifle to push the door open, but before I could toss my little canister in, it happened. A screaming lunatic launched himself out of the door and full body slammed me to the ground. I had to get my ass out from under a peevie that was nearly seven feet tall and weighed less than I did before my rotund, halfback-sized friend decided to cover me with his shotgun. The monster was trying to bite me and I was barely able to fight it off as the gelatinous peevie drool dripped into my hair. Side note: peevie drool is slimier than okra slime. If I’d had one wit about me I would have been screaming like a freshly made eunuch, and not from fear of being bitten. I know they say "size doesn't matter” but the rabid ape that had me pinned, dripping with God only knows what, had its fucking tree stump of a pecker rubbing against my knee. Not only that, its five gallon bucket of sagging testicles felt as if it was groping my shin. I actually thought for a moment about just letting my hands loose so it could bite me. It was about to make my knee pregnant or something. The fact that we were in the sunlight had the monster clenching its eyes shut and wailing, so I didn't hear The Oracle walking my way, but I’m pretty sure he took his sweet time. He slammed the butt of his gun into the back of the leg humper's head and it collapsed straight on to me, losing control of its bowels along with consciousness. I was able to extricate myself from under the nudist, but his sticky, enormous genitals made sure to cling to me as long as physically possible. I stood, soaked below my knees in what looked like a pot of coffee. Smokes lifted his pistol and splattered the brains of the unconscious infected on the floor. Well, I sure as hell wasn't cleaning that up. Honestly, I felt like weeping but anger took over just in time. I turned with a disgusted look on my face.
"Did that have to happen?"
"Shit dawg, least you made it." He already knew the monster was in the bathroom. He couldn't have made this easier?
"Barely. Whatever. You get to drag Long Dong Silver to the causeway." I went to step outside to call The Medicine Man over the radio and tell him his new office was clear. Then I would go soak my feet in the lake while I cried. I prefer reeking water to reeking shit.
Once I’d got the nasty off me we loaded the clinic up with truckloads of medical booty and it looked very professional. The island was one step closer to normality. If anything about a powerless little doctor’s office in a dead city surrounded by naked people that eat human flesh can be considered normal.
☠☠☠
Our entire group of survivors had a sort of celebration on the day our canal was finished. Everyone brought lawn chairs to watch the final explosion. Crow must have had been ordered by Hammer to be nice, she actually socialized and called me “white boy” only once. My mom made food. Brother Williamson slaughtered a calf and served steaks. It was like Bilbo’s birthday party, including the fireworks. (Which is normally a bad idea. Every time I go to a party with fireworks there ends up being a Roman candle war and someone has to go to the hospital; usually it was Walt.) I looked around my company; seemed like the kind of people who could handle themselves around fireworks. I raised my drink in a silent toast to my crazy friend who had sacrificed himself for all this.
Everyone took a seat and got deathly quiet in preparation for the show; Sarah and Rosa Williamson had plugged their ears. Gene held a wired box with a red button; not exactly a cartoon plunger, but still pretty cool. He began his countdown: “Ten…nine…” and the entire audience joined him, “eight…seven…” I felt like we were at Cape Canaveral. When the crowd screamed “Zero!” I was expecting a blinding explosion and possibly a couple of deaths. I was disappointed to witness a few grenade sized bangs, barely audible from their holes, and some dim flashes before the sound of a sweeping rush of water. We were now Islanders: hooray!
Everyone was clinking bottles and giving fist bumps, but I sat there like the kid that gets socks for Christmas. Wait…what? We just spent more than a week slaving like Jews building the fucking pyramids, and we don’t even get a memorable show? I could have shot my pistol into the air and it would have drowned out the dynamite! I would have to have a talk with The Tech and The Builder. Guntersville has a huge fireworks show every year for the Fourth of July, they surely had to have some rockets hidden somewhere. I knew I could not be the only one let down by the embarrassment that was the grand finale of our great excavation, I’m just glad nobody put up a banner that said “Mission Accomplished!!”
☠☠☠
Even though I was scared shitless every time a starving zombie stumbled out into the daylight, we lost no main protagonists during island clearance. There were, however, other deaths. I will set aside some entries in honor of the fallen that were lost during the final extermination of infected inhabitants.
We obviously did a pretty decent job of sweeping the island of dead, shit covered, naked, blue bodies because we never had a problem with scavenger birds. In fact, I haven’t seen a bird since all this started, not so much as a pigeon. I’m pretty sure we got rid of all of the carcasses; the city doesn’t smell any worse than it did with only heaping piles of steaming feces everywhere.
We would summarily drive around, collecting bodies in the back of the Gorgon, then dump them across the bridge or whichever causewa
y they fell closest to. Here's the weird thing: every one of them would conveniently disappear from their resting place by morning. I had witnessed this vanishing act with that peevie Hammer shot in the head at the gas station, but we had no clue where the corpses were going. I could speculate on the reason behind the disappearances, but I’m sure you don’t want to read my ridiculous guesses. It looked like they had just magically teleported elsewhere. Fine with me. Just one less shit job I would be forced to do.
I really could not begin to guess why so many infected ended up on our peninsula. It is a convenient place to catch an easy meal; they had no problem stepping out into the stinking sewer that is the lake nearly waist deep to scoop up dead fish all along the shore. Let’s face it, this is a manmade lake, and if there are not stinking fish floating at the water’s edge then there is something wrong. But I don’t know how they can be comfortable so close to water; the monsters can’t swim any better than Gene. I've been studying the intelligence of these rabid nudists; it compares to that of a dog. Certainly they don’t share the brainpower of primates like Mary…but you would still assume they could at least tread water.
Still, look at me. Captain of a floating piece of history and I can barely dog paddle, unlike Easy, who medaled in the butterfly and backstroke. In hindsight, this lake...well, being a loser who took a job out of desperation to get out of my home town and ended up on this lake, is probably the reason I’m alive now. I just happened to get an opportunity that kept me out of harm’s way in the initial wave of undead. Luckier still, I was basically home when the infection struck and was able to save most of my family. Everything that has happened seems to have prepared me for being in the position for which Smokes christened me, The Hero. Let's just hope it never involves much swimming. Don’t ask me what brings on these philosophical reflections; I just occasionally realize that everything happens for a reason. Jack Handy’s Deep Thoughts, anyone?
