by Javan Bonds
Once I got ready, I noticed Smokes was already off, securing our ride, I hoped. I emerged on the main deck to find Bradley and Mary sitting at the table, opposite our resident bi-racial, lesbian couple. The Expert was filling Bradley in on the huge amount of gold bullion we discovered and I walked up to ask for the radio.
"Nu-uh white boy, you gotta ask nice-like!" the cook giggled girlishly and quickly put the handset behind her back.
I slapped my forehead in exasperation. For as long as I’d known her, Crow had been nothing other than an unhappy, unfriendly bitch that has treated me like a stupid hillbilly. Now that she has a girlfriend, she’s all smiles and everything is perfect. Not all of us fall into a relationship so easily. It momentarily struck me as unfair that she’s been getting laid–or whatever the hell lesbians do–for weeks while I had not even started my run to first base with Sarah, whom I've known practically my whole life. I was not in the mood for this game, not with her, at least, and though it might have been mean, I simply wanted to get on with my day and my plans to save my brother.
"Just give me the damn radio." I stuck my hand out before finally forcing “Please.” I was not trying to appear intimidating, it was just obvious that I didn’t feel playful. She tossed it to me with a look of disgust.
As I walked away from the table with radio in hand, she mumbled to The Expert something. All I could make out was "that fucking white boy."
"Daddy?" I asked into the radio.
It was answered quickly with a sigh. “Mo…this is Gray Fox. Over."
I looked up to the heavens. Why couldn’t I even be assigned a fucking call sign? "Road Warrior" or a pirate name would be cool. I live on a damn pirate ship and I’ve never thought about just taking a pirate name! I have brown hair and a goatee. "Brown Mo" doesn’t sound good…I don’t have any amputations or badass scars…dammit, I didn’t have any decent ideas. I was resigned to return from my heroic mission with an awesome call sign.
Anyway, I responded to my dad. "I need y’all to come over to the boat. Me and Smokes are planning to go to Birmingham and I want to go over our routes and say ‘bye to the crew."
I was very proud of the fact that I had not felt like I needed any sort of permission; I was equally amazed that he didn’t ask why I was leaving or question my mode of travel. He simply came back, "Roger. Can be there in fifteen. Gray Fox out."
He had understood "y’all" perfectly. He, my mother, Sarah, and Gene showed up. He had known in this instance I was referring only to main protagonists. Yes, I know I’m leaving out The Medicine Man and The Man Of God, I just haven't bonded with them like I have with the others. Smokes soon joined us on deck while we waited for the others to board. I was unusually thankful Crow was present. The Oracle had still not overcome his fear of her and his silence would be welcomed in this conversation.
“I knew you’d be leaving sometime." my dad started as soon as he saw me. He then asked: “You're going to get your brother?”
What the fuck? Did The Oracle tell him about The Reasons? Did he think we would be hitchhiking down there? I glared over at the Oracle, who had his eyes glued to his shoes before replying, "Yeah." I paused before remembering, "Oh, we’re taking a light Beaver biplane that’s parked at the senator’s house. Smokes can fly it."
My dad just nodded as if he knew the history of the Oracle; nothing he did would surprise Randy. The other protagonists were grabbing chairs at the table by now. My mama asked if it would take very long, and I was surprised she was being reasonable. I had expected her to be upset that I was traveling into hostile territory with very little backup, but I’m guessing she had caught some of the zombie prophet’s sermons, either that or she was just worried about Easy.
"Well, I’m hoping to be back here by tomorrow." I answered what no one was asking.
Daddy snorted. "Even if you find him right away, you won’t just get to hop back in your plane. I would plan for at least three days if I were you." Well, thanks for being so characteristically optimistic, Daddy.
The Tech volunteered, "I would go with you, but Georgia needs me. I should be able to hook you up with a long-range radio, though."
I notice Daniel’s widow was conspicuously absent. She probably didn’t want to see Smokes. I wanted to give Gene a high-five or something. If he was going to “comfort" the recently bereaved mess that was Georgia, more power to him. His explanation of the details of this radio was way too technical for me…something about the fire hall. It would have been nice to have The Tech with us, but the plane had limited seating and what if we found Easy with a girl? It was certainly likely. I turned to Bradley knowing that he and Mary would be useful on our trip, but I was willing to bet Birmingham had no power and without working elevators, handicap accessibility was doubtful.
Mary was sitting on his shoulder chewing on a walnut. The Old Friend clicked his tongue. "Hurry up and bring Easy back. I need someone that will box with me."
He didn’t volunteer to go. I was grateful I wasn’t going to have to tell the guy with arms bigger around than my entire body that he couldn’t go because he was in a wheelchair. It struck me as funny that everyone was confident that Easy was alive. I mean, I’m pretty sure he is because I’ve been listening to the zombie gospel of Smokes, I just find it weird that other people automatically assume my perfect brother is alive and thriving.
I turned my head to The Expert. She broke away from her lover. "I’m going with you." She stuck her chin out at my dad. "Your daddy would kill me if something happened to you and I wasn’t there to stop it. I gotta be there."
Everyone tensed at this revelation. We all knew Crow would explode, "But Pet!" She ran below, sobbing and babbling something about killing a fucking white boy. The Expert called after her. “Rosie, it’s okay!”
I almost nervously chuckled. Did Hammer just call Crow Rosie? Crow’s name really is Rose? Shit, I thought they were just messing around because Hammer's name is Petunia. And Pet? What's up with that? I wouldn’t think anybody could give a badass like Hammer a lovey name. That is kind of funny, though, Petunia and Rose.
The former pawn shop owner turned as she began walking after Rosie to reassure us. "I’m gonna go fix this and no matter what happens, do not leave without me."
“Okay, Pet,” I said once I was sure she couldn't hear me.
We still had some details to go over and Smokes had to go get the plane, but it was settled: the prophet would fly, I would be the comic relief, and The Expert would be the muscle. None of us packed a suitcase. Guns and ammo were the only items I was willing to carry onboard, not exactly sure of the weight limit, counting Smokes.
Before we boarded the plane, my dad shook my hand. “I’m sure he’s okay.” Yeah, don’t worry about me.
My mom burst into tears. “I love you. Be safe and don’t talk to strangers.” Because I’m sure that’s the most dangerous thing we’ll have to worry about, strangers. I only knew a couple of people in Birmingham before May Day, so I will most likely have to talk to strangers. There’s a chance, but gay rapists are probably not the sole survivors in my brother’s group, which will form what Smokes’ described earlier as another incarnation of The Similar. Shit, that would be kind of scary. Maybe the only survivor in Birmingham is a dude with a thick mustache and pedo glasses that wants to give me candy from the back of his van.
Finally, Sarah stood before me. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. "I love you Mo-Mo, come back to me!"
I stupidly mumbled out a noise that sounded like "I love you too." I enjoyed her embrace as she planted a kiss on my cheek.
"Come back to me?" Really? And, depending on how you look at it, she could have been aiming for a full-on kiss on the lips with tongue and everything, maybe she just missed. If I had known my retarded attempts at flirtation were getting me somewhere, I wouldn’t have been in such a rush to leave. We have always said "I love you,” it was purely platonic—even though I always wanted it to be more than that. It was supposedly like telling your sibling of your feeli
ngs. She and I were wasted when we discovered the word "platonic" to describe our relationship. We found it hilarious. I don’t think you could pay me enough to tell Easy I loved him.
I suppose it’s kind of fitting, since Sarah has been basically adopted by my parents. Yes, I know she is an adult, but we all need something resembling parents, and that really just makes it even weirder than it was before. I may just be extremely hopeful, but her "I love you, come back to me" sounded like there was a little something more to it. Damn, I could have used this time to awkwardly make a move, but I chose to go save my brother. He probably doesn’t even need saving!
Smokes set off in the boat while my father and I finalized details. I went down to grab a fresh notebook, so as long as Smokes doesn’t crash into the side of a mountain, I will be chronicling the events of our rescue mission. I felt ready to take on another quest; I just hoped not to lose anyone this time.
Smokes made an impressive water landing close up to the Cora on the Beaver’s floats. Hammer and I were getting some supplies to the plane, and Gene had returned with some electronics to modify the radio. Smokes spoke as he stepped to the Marina from the floating plane, “Ima name dis bitch.”
“It doesn’t already have a name?” I inquired.
He shook his head. “Her name Alex.” A Beaver named Alex. Alex Beaver, I think I went to school with that guy. Why would a gang banger name his airplane Alex? Nothing wrong with the name but it didn’t quite fit what Smokes had claimed he was when we first met, a dope dealing gangbanger. That was about as likely, I realized now, as me being Indiana Jones.
Still, climbing into that plane, the leader of a team of eager rescuers, definitely gave a purpose to my life I never thought I would have, nor had I ever even wanted. It felt pretty good. I buckled into the co-pilot seat, confident the plot would move forward as it should. As we rose above the bridges and continued to rise into the clouds, I looked back and down from the speeding plane for a possibly final glimpse at my parents and the others that had become my family since the End of the World.
They all looked so small from up HERE.
The Following Is An Excerpt From The Upcoming Next Installment Of The Still Alive Series
ZOMBIES ON A PLANE
Prologue
“This is Clark Carson, reporting live from the city of Guntersville. It’s the city’s first annual Cinco de Mayo parade and celebration. US 431 has been diverted to northbound traffic only to help in the evacuation from a contagious flu bug originating from Mobile, so the festivities that were scheduled for Gunter Avenue have been moved to Sunset Drive. We are standing right across from the Civitan Park.”
The cameraman panned to the right, showing large groups of spectators lining the road. There were people sitting along the sidewalk in lawn chairs, a large tent selling Mexican flags, vendors selling ice cream, and various other treats and merchandise. Though a bit cloudy, it was warm and not too humid; most would call it a perfect day.
Ranchero music began playing as the first float-carrying truck rounded the bend. The camera zoomed in on a paper-mâché sombrero with children throwing candy from the sides. Before the next truck could be seen, a woman screaming in terrible pain could be heard from somewhere off-camera.
The cameras spun to the parking lot of Piggly Wiggly. A woman was being attacked by what appeared to be a pale blue, naked man. He was on top of her, leaning in to kiss or bite the woman on the neck. She let out another scream, and before she had even closed her mouth, her attacker was already up, going to tackle another shopper.
This woman used her buggy to keep the man at bay while she drew a pistol from her purse. This being Alabama, it wasn’t surprising that she was carrying. The lunatic just pushed the buggy away and was about to pounce when she put five bullets into him.
The reporter mumbled something off screen, and the camera cut back to him. “This is Clark Carson, reporting live from Guntersville. We just witnessed an obviously deranged man assault a woman at the Piggly Wiggly. He ran to attack another shopper, unprovoked. She put several rounds from her handgun into the assailant. Hopefully the police will arrive shortly.”
Sirens could be heard in the distance and the music, which had stopped, started up again. The camera turned back around as the trucks began moving; the Cinco de Mayo parade was back in gear. The floats lined up down the street, people seemed to be enjoying themselves. The horrifying scene at the Piggly Wiggly was forgotten.
Another bloodcurdling scream came from behind the camera, and again it spun. Police cars and an ambulance had gathered in front of the grocery store; suddenly another naked man launched himself at one of the officers. Three other officers had pistols trained on the crazy attacker. Screaming at him to “drop to the ground!” did absolutely nothing, and he charged. What seemed like dozens of rounds riddled his body, flinging him backwards. The filthy, crazed man sank to the ground, red pooling beneath him.
The reporter mumbled something to the cameraman, but before he could turn around, another insane, nude, screaming person broke from the trees behind the store. The camera focused on the action as yet another came from the woods. Two more. Another. Now dozens of frenzied, naked individuals rushed into the parking lot. Sirens could be heard blaring from across the island.
The bright sun seemed to be bothering the madmen. As they emerged from the cover of the woods, they squinted and covered their eyes, which, the reporter noted, appeared yellow. They refused to enter the Piggly Wiggly, but were happy to attack fleeing customers as they tried to escape to their cars.
With the camera still watching the violence across the street, the reporter clicked his microphone on and began speaking from off-screen. “This is Clark Carson reporting live from Guntersville. We are at the Cinco de Mayo parade, watching an unbelievable scene unfold across the street.”
Police officers were emptying magazines as the naked people hurled themselves at anyone within reach. Bullets were flying. As the melee grew, it was hard to tell if citizens were falling from attack or had been taken by crossfire. The naked, yellow-eyed lunatics were winning, at least in their minds. They would jump on a victim, bring their teeth down on exposed flesh, tear out a chunk, and then move on to their next target.
None of the victims were killed outright. Each rose slowly and wondered to their cars or into the store dazed by the attack. Finally, there were no more unbitten people in the large parking lot, and the crazies honed in on the large crowd who stood watching the scene a few hundred yards away. The cameraman started backing up when the nut cases began coming straight at the Cinco de Mayo parade. A few of the brave spectators came from behind the cameraman to send pistol rounds at the rushing attackers, but within seconds, the bluish lunatics were among the crowd, biting everyone in sight.
Clark Carson could be heard babbling as he started moving about. “Holy shit! They are just fucking biting people!” The camera would catch glimpses of the occasional soul bold or stupid enough to put up a fight; most just tried to flee. The entire crowd was panicking; screaming and crying becoming one sound. “Fuck this!” The cameraman shouted and dropped the camera before running. It lay on its side, facing the grocery store—a nearly uncountable herd of nude, yellow-eyed, screaming blunatics were covering the screen.
The reporter picked up the camera and held it in his left hand, facing behind him. He started running like his life depended on it. And it did. Reporting the news to the end, he described what he saw as he ran. “This is Clark Carson reporting live from Guntersville. The Cinco de Mayo parade was disrupted by naked terrorists, attacking everyone they could find.” He was staying on the road, almost to the river bridge. His feet could be heard thudding on the pavement over screams of terror.
Blue flashers leapt onto anyone slow enough to be overtaken by the rushing tide. Like completely wild animals, the crazies threw themselves at oncoming vehicles, occasionally smashing through windshields and fighting with drivers. Carson, still bouncing the camera along, began going uphill with the bri
dge. Three blunatics noticed the lone man heading over the bridge. They stopped chasing the dog that was surely faster than they and turned their attention to the tiring runner.
Bare feet smacking against pavement is a very distinct sound; especially when it is the one thing a person dreads hearing. Clark quickly glanced back. “Motherfucker!” His pace picked up considerably as he neared the top of the south bound lanes of the bridge. He was sure going down would be easier, but it would also be easier for the vicious cannibals behind him.
He began crying as his feet started impacting concrete rather than asphalt. As he crested the hill, the loonies were nearly on him. Less than a dozen yards away and screaming, it was easy to see their dangling genitals, yellow eyes, and bloodstained mouths. Clark Carson knew there was no escape. No miracle. The camera hung loosely in his hand, filming his attackers below the knee. “Mama, I—” The cry for his mother was cut short. As the leading monster dove at his back, it knocked the camera to the ground. One of the insane naked people planted a foot on the top of the lens, ending the record of the day the zombies came to town.
TO BE COUNTINUED
ZOMBIES ON A PLANE
LOOK FOR IT IN MAY 2017
☠☠☠
Follow Mo and His Fellow Survivors in the
STILL ALIVE SAGA
PICK UP
BOOK ONE
ZOMBIE LAKE
AND
COMING SOON!!!
BOOK THREE
ZOMBIES ON A PLANE
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