by Javan Bonds
It’s true that Daniel and I were not that close, but he was part of the crew and it was hard losing anyone with so few people left in the world, especially someone so handy and willing to pitch in. I knew Georgia would be devastated and I was guessing little Hunter would take it pretty hard as well. In fact, this is one job I didn’t know if I could manage on my own. For the first time in years, I felt like maybe I needed my mom to help me with something.
I know Gainesworth was an insane sumbitch and maybe seeing his family infected made him that way. He might have been willing to share and help our little society grow if he had not been driven into his concrete cave and forced to survive on oatmeal cream pies for weeks. Why did the representative have so many damn boxes of snack cakes? Maybe he just had a major sweet tooth, or maybe he was an investor in Little Debbie.
“We gon burn him a asses.” Smokes commented around mouthfuls of cake and frosting. He gestured to the body wrapped in towels.
“What the fuck man?”
He shook his head and swallowed, clearing his throat. The Oracle reiterated, “Ashes.”
“Oh, that sounds better.”
He gave me a look that told me I was a gifted cracka. That actually made sense. We wouldn’t want to start a graveyard on a small island anyway, and if he was cremated he could not be dug up by peevies or other scavengers. Wow, that was a really economical way to go even if we weren’t dealing with the zombie apocalypse. If I meet my cruel end in the next few chapters or journals, I hope they dispose of my body that way.
I had to speak loudly over the engine and looked at Hammer. “So how much gold was in that place?”
She did some math in her head. “What we saw was in the hundred million-dollar range; though the rates might of changed a bit.”
I let out a whistle and the Oracle turned almost white. That was more than enough for everyone on the island for a lifetime. If I was Gainesworth, I would’ve had a Scrooge McDuck vault or something, great big king sized bed right in the middle of it. Even when I was living at home with my parents, I never knew anything more than just being financially comfortable, and though I think everybody should be able to make as much money as they want, I have to ask: why in the hell would you need to store that much gold? Well, now that I think about it, he already had a plane and a mansion and a bunker, I guess he was just holding on to his leftovers. He should have thrown some of it my way. Sorry, I guess even the best of us have that tiny little Democrat inside that sneaks out and makes ridiculous demands.
We docked near the Best Western where the Daniels resided and we expected to see the unknowing widow. We realized we were alone on this end of the island.
The Expert clicked her radio. “Gray Fox, this is Red Witch. What is your current location? Over.”
After a moment, he returned, “Red Witch, Gray Fox. The city marina. The citizens organized a community potluck to celebrate the destruction of the river bridge. Come join us. Over.”
Well shit, I didn’t know that was planned. There probably wouldn’t be much celebrating once everybody learned the man of the hour was basically decapitated over a pile of gold and zebra cakes. We were definitely about to wreck the party.
She face-palmed. “Roger. Be right there. Out.”
Not worried about peevies or other animals body-snatching, we left Daniel in the boat after deciding to drive the Gorgon rather than show up to a party with a dead guy. For some reason, saying that brings thoughts of Weekend at Bernie’s to my mind. God, I’m DERANGED.
Mo Journal Entry 19
OUR STAR DESTROYER/GIANT white pickup came to a rest as close to the Cora as possible. There were a lot of damn people here. I mean, shit, I knew there were a lot of Williamsons, but this felt like Bryant Denny Stadium at the first home game of the season. There was a guy playing guitar, most of a cow roasting over a fire, and my dad had the poop deck as a stage to make some kind of commencement speech.
I was amazed the gangplank was lowered and we walked onto the ship. As we topped the deck I could hear my father shout over unseen speakers. I nearly yelped, surprised to hear electronically enhanced sound. I really shouldn’t have been shocked with The Tech and his precious gadgets and miraculous mechanical abilities. Even if we didn’t have electricity on the ship my Dad would’ve still been using a rigged up microphone.
He hollered, “And there they are! Come on up here so we can start the fireworks.”
Fireworks? Like the explosions at the canal? Fuck, this was going to be a letdown in more than one way.
Daddy gestured his hand to our returning trio, expecting a quartet. We froze as the entire crowd looked our way. I shot a glance at Hammer who simply nodded and hustled up to the poop deck. She gestured for my dad to cover his microphone before giving him the briefest explanation of our day. His eyes grew wide and then he visibly sank with the horrifying news.
I didn’t figure I would be able to disappear in the crowd with black Buddha as a sidekick.
“Her man’s brains on my threads, mufucka,” he said, giving me a push from behind. I and simply walked in the direction of Georgia to try and get her to go below with me for some privacy when telling her about the tragic loss.
“Georgia, I need to talk to you down—“
Gene had approached us. “Da cracka got kilt. His head got blowed off and he in da dayum boat.” I heard Smokes talking to The Tech right behind us; it was clear Georgia could hear him.
I cut my eyes at him to tell him to shut the fuck up. Undeterred, he kept picking meat off his shirt, paying no attention to Georgia’s growing concern or my desperate looks. “Go see fo yoself, homeboy.”
I was growing more and more anxious with each of his utterances. I could see Georgia’s mind racing. I don’t know this guy, why would he lie ? Why did they come back without Daniel? Why did Mo want to talk to me in private?
“Georgia, it’s—“ Too late. She bolted for the gangplank and the Best Western across the island. I didn’t need to try to stop her, I knew how this was going to play out. This movie has a fucking sick and predictable director. Too bad we don’t have the budget for the Coen brothers. If I’m The Hero, why do I always feel like such a loser?
I scowled at my self-absorbed friend, ready to punch him or at least be very mean.
I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
“Mufucka, she gonna find out ventually. I just keepin’ da plot movin’.”
Gene had turned and was pretending to fiddle with some of the P.A. equipment.
For God’s sake, why the hell do we have to have a plot? My life was beyond boring until this idiot showed up. Well, I can’t forget about all that zombie apocalypse shit, but that somehow has to be his fault as well.
The crowd immediately forgot about the young blonde woman running down the street and turned back to the speaker on the stage. He seemed unsure of how to continue. “Uh—well...the designer of the drawbridge, “he pointed to the wooden structures waiting at the base of the river bridge, “can’t join us at the moment. But we will continue with the destruction of our last tie to the mainland! In just a few moments, we will officially be independent from the mainland, safe and free from infection! You can tell your grandchildren that you were there the day we severed all connections from the rest of the blue country!” The audience cheered and shouted as he gestured for Gene to replace Daniel in pressing the button for the explosion.
I snickered, he just said the rest of the country was blue. Get it, Democratic voters? Okay, it wasn’t funny. I guess we were technically “cutting all ties,” but it’s not the ocean or even the damn lake. It’s a few yards of concrete that we are just replacing with a wooden drawbridge. Wouldn’t it have been easier to build a fence? I guess the idea of an island is just appealing, which explains why they ever called this place one to begin with. Plus, I kind of thought it was dangerous to be blowing up concrete so close. I could easily imagine chunks of pavement the size of cinderblocks becoming missiles to rip people in half and decapitate those lucky few no
t simply horribly maimed. The blood and eviscerated organs littering the deck would just make it more difficult to get out of the mass mayhem. Maybe I shouldn’t worry, all of the other Main Protagonists were present and they all appeared to be forward thinking safety gurus; of course, so was The Builder.
Everyone began counting down as The Tech readied his hand over the plunger. “Three, two, one!”
Uproarious cheers were drowned out by a massive fireball consuming the southbound bridge. It may have just been made to look like a huge, fiery explosion, like some type of Hollywood effects or something; maybe Gene had noticed our previous lack of pyrotechnics. I was surprised the boat didn’t rock and I was expecting to be peppered with tiny projectiles from the now destroyed bridge, but no one screamed out in agony from being impaled by rebar or crushed by concrete. Hooray! The island now had no permanent connection to any other land. The Daniels bridge would be the only way to travel northward on US 431.
Gene’s Gentlemanly Act
AFTER GENE HAD taken the final step in destroying the bridge and received a few backslaps from onlookers, his priority was to follow Georgia. Mo told him where she was going and why, since no one else had accompanied her, The Tech felt that she would need someone at this time.
He cranked up his solar powered moped and put the hammer down, but did not exceed the fifty mile-per-hour speed allotment.
Some would consider her top-heavy, but even in high school her double Ds didn’t slow her down on the track team. Georgia could run a mile in five minutes back then, and even now she could still come pretty close to that. She had run down the gangplank of that sailboat, crossed her arms over her chest, and was off in a flash to the hotel on the other end of the island. It couldn’t be true, but there were too many questions and she had to see for herself. As fast as her feet would carry her, she was almost to the Best Western when she heard a single stroke motor approaching from behind her.
She cut through the parking lot and made a beeline for the small craft bouncing on the waves by the dock. A plastic sheet was laid over something near the motor and as she drew closer she gasped. It was a body. That still doesn’t mean anything, it can’t be Daniel. She thought desperately. She let out a scream as she lifted the sheet and discovered a body with a cleanly severed head. A flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of dirty blue jeans…it could be almost anyone. Lots of stocky guys dressed like that; it’s not Daniel. Georgia tried to ignore the rapidly solidifying pool of blood that had dripped from the open aorta and look the body over for giveaways on its identity. The ring finger on the right hand was missing, but there— there inside the left forearm were remnants of an old scar from a long-ago automobile accident, and a birthmark on the back of the same hand. Those were positive trademarks. It was Daniel. She crashed to her knees, looked up and wailed.
This was unbelievable: it really was him. Daniel’s body lay before her without those sweet, green eyes and the endearing smile she had fallen in love with. He wasn’t coming back. It was impossible. She tried to will it all away by squeezing his stiff hand. How was she going to break this to Hunter? She wasn’t his biological mother, but they had been family long enough that she knew the young boy would not react as she did with utter disbelief and immense sorrow, he would barely react at all, bottle up his grief and irreplaceable loss until one day, when he was older and it all came exploding out.
The owner of the comic book shop had just dismounted his ride in the parking lot and was walking to the dock. He nearly jumped as the loneliest, saddest sound he had ever heard hit his ears. Gene picked up his pace to reach the woman that just discovered she was a widow. He rounded the corner to see Georgia raving like a Klingon who had just lost her mate. She was clutching the cold hand of a headless corpse, it must be Daniel. He rushed to her side and put his arm over her shoulder.
He tried to think of something comforting to say to her, but he was coming up blank. It went without question that he had never been a ladies’ man; he only knew that he needed to be there for her. As he squeezed her shoulder, she pressed her body up against him and it was difficult to push down all of his urges.
They remained like that for what could have been forever, she bawled into his shoulder and he didn’t make a sound. She was mashing herself into him so forcefully, it wouldn’t look like a friendly hug to a random passerby.
She was finally able to speak and pulled away. “What are we gonna do now?”
He remained silent and then grinned. “You are free to come by Excelsior any time. You and I can talk and I have electricity if Hunter wants to play Xbox.”
She smiled through the tears and gave him another full embrace. This little guy was nearly as sweet as Daniel.
Her man was gone but she had just made a new friend and already had a new enemy, that black guy. She knew this was all his fault and would never be able to forgive the man she blamed for Daniel’s death. She instantly knew that this funny little nerd would be her friend until the end; he was the only person who had even noticed her running away from the Cora. Georgia couldn’t explain why she felt comfortable with Gene, but she felt serene in his presence. He radiated a feeling of peace, almost as if he were controlling some type of mystical force. She would go have a talk with Hunter and promised herself she would never again see that fat black guy in her LIFE.
Mo Journal Entry 20
SOMEONE USUALLY GETS threatened with a chainsaw or a massive fight breaks out at most parties I go to, but I don’t even remember seeing alcohol served to any of the celebrators. Maybe Walt had "salvaged" all the beer from Walmart earlier. I cornered The Oracle in the crew cabin after the festivities died down. I asked him as he finished off another snack cake, "So what’s with you and that plane?"
Smokes looked at me as if he was surprised I had remembered his earlier infatuation. “What? Ya mean da Beava at dat rich cracka’s crib?"
He tried to brush it off, but realized I was seeking a better answer after my affirmative nod. He narrowed his eyes. "Lissen you white mufucka, I jus like arplanes, ya dig?"
I waited for a further explanation. He finally sighed before continuing. "Ma cuz gots a Beava just like dat."
The disbelief at this weak answer must have shown on my face. He rolled his eyes and tried again. "I been in one befo!"
This was a better attempt, but I still was not buying it and kept the same raised eyebrow. He dropped his head and mumbled a profanity before dusting the Little Debbie from his lap and standing to take a step closer to me.
His eyes became slits and he pointed a meaty finger at me. "I fuckin’ trow yo white ass in da lake if ya run yo Caucasoid trap too tha peoples!"
Caucasoid? Since when did he start using a word most people don’t even know is a word? Next thing you know, he’ll be speaking Sanskrit.
He relented. "I ain’t got no cousin that a pilot." He paused to scratch his neck before continuing. "I’s in flight skoo, ya mean?"
I shook my head, wondering if I had misunderstood. Why wouldn’t he want anyone to know he was going to be a pilot?
He saw my head shake. Before I could ask another question he said, "I flies a Beava just like dat. I been won’tin’ to get me some airtime."
I lifted my chin in understanding; he wanted to finish his hours before anyone knew he could fly, or worse, took the plane themselves. My eyes grew wide. The realization hit me like a train: Smokes just opened up a whole new plot line for me; one that could fulfill The Reasons. He could fly me to Birmingham! I could pick up my brother, Easy, and be back here before the sun goes down. Finally I could feel like The Hero; even my dad would be amazed. "So you could take off from the lake and land in the lake when we get back?"
He smiled, "Shit yeah, cracka. Where’s we goin?"
"Reasons." I said cryptically and flatly. He nodded as if understood completely.
Well, I knew it only took about thirty minutes to get from Birmingham to Atlanta on a plane, so this trip should have been just as short. I’d never taken said tri
p, so I am only going by what I’ve heard. I’ve only been in airplanes at small airshows and one round-trip to and from Alaska. I was admittedly giddy, this was beyond belief. Rather than go through details now, I left The Oracle to think about our trip and eat twice his weight in pastry. I planned to discuss it deeper TOMORROW.
Mo Journal Entry 21
I WOKE TO the sound of my alarm clock, for once not fearing the hellish labor the day would bring and enjoying the convenience of the electricity. I know that very few people on the island have access to the commodity and realizing its scarcity makes it that much more meaningful. An electric alarm clock, hot water, and indoor lighting are things everyone in modern society took for granted until it was gone. My dad has some electricity in the courthouse; of course Gene has power in the comic book shop, and he happily sacrificed the solar panels from his former residence to give the Viva Ancora complete electrical independence. Now all we need to do is find someone who can operate a TVA dam to supply power to the entire island.
After some thought, I decided that this trip and finding Easy might take the entire day and we wouldn’t be able to return until tomorrow. It would be great if a TVA employee was discovered while we were away and we returned to a lit city.
If Gene is such a technical expert at everything, why the hell can’t he just get the dam running? I know you’ve probably asked that question, as have I. His response is always, "I am a robotics mechanic, not a hydroelectric mechanic, nor an electrician." As if that completely explains it. You can build nanites and androids, integrate solar panels into a gas burning motor, and operate automobiles like a stunt driver. God forbid anyone ask you to do anything beyond your capabilities like flip some fucking switches.
