by Javan Bonds
At least he could take some small solace in knowing the peevie toppled over with him. The monster only screamed and flailed its arms as it drove face first, straight to the dirt. The man screamed for what seemed like an eternity. It would have been merciful to kill him when he hit the ground. Yet, I couldn’t do anything but scream and curse the fates.
If he impacting feet first, the survivor could only wish to have a heart attack or have ruptured an artery or anything that would make death come more swiftly.
His blue partner in the short trip was luckier. Cranium was the first body part to touch the ground. Its skull seemed to disintegrate and was replaced with a glob of goop. All bones above the sternum pushed behind the ribs as the ground destroyed the zombie slamming into it. The body being crumpled, twitching a few times before muscles and nerves gave up trying to get a reaction from the brain.
In the same instant, Chester fell just beside the dead blue. This one, though, was completely opposite. The man had not been infected. Also, he didn’t die instantly. His feet hit the ground before anything else. Metatarsals, ankles, and every bone below his shins immediately shattered. Bones shot through the kneecaps and poked through the skin for several inches. Looking up at the helicopter, the man screamed in inconceivable pain.
There was nothing to be done. As much as I wanted to be merciful, my accuracy from this range couldn’t be guaranteed, plus I was shaking with rage.
“I’m sorry!” I knew he couldn’t hear me, but hopefully he could read my lips.
Beside me, the kid with the rifle ran to the open door. “Chester!” he screamed down at the man. I’m glad he didn’t try to line up his .22 on Chester. There’s no way I’d even let him attempt that.
Only having time to put a fresh magazine in the well, I looked down to see the mass of peevies gathering around the injured human. They weren’t going in for a bite, they were preparing to fucking carry him! I had seen them do this before. Chester was going to become like cattle and slaughtered one piece at a time.
I yelled at my copilot over my shoulder. “Get closer!” There was no point in telling him, he was already dropping the pitch.
Dozens of monsters had their hands on the survivor. They were carrying him as fast as they could. Out of the chain-link gate in the blink of an eye, the reanimates surged in the direction of the closest tree line.
Bullets rained down, dropping infected. Even our newly rescued supplied a few rounds from his .22. Skywalker turned around and came over the crowd for a second volley. My shots didn’t slow the undead. Only a few more feet and they would be safe under the trees.
I screamed and spit at nothing. This was fucking unfair! He didn’t deserve that and I felt like a failure because I couldn’t save him or at least stop it. I just found out Chester’s name and had never even seen him before today, but there was kinship, being one of the last living humans not in Guntersville. Thinking about what he would have to endure my stomach turned.
☠☠☠
Jed and Scooter were our two new comrades. It was hard for them to believe there was an entire city full of people only miles away. They had seen next to no one besides Chester, his wife and stepdaughter, and only a few traveling survivors here and there. Trying to put thoughts of Chester aside, they began asking details about our community.
I raised a finger. “Before we go home, what about Chester’s family?”
Jed was embarrassed and angry at himself for having almost forgotten his fellow survivors. “Where are they?” I questioned. He pointed to the east. I turned to give my copilot instructions, but I noticed he was already banking in that direction. He knew!
Every time he proved he knew what was going to happen, I wasn’t sure how I should react. I wanted to scream at him, to punch him, to thank him for keeping me alive, to ask him why the hell he even agreed to go on these adventures if they ended in such horrible losses.
“You’re always at the place you are always supposed to be.” I reckoned he’d tell ME.
Interlude
AGAIN, I EMERGED on the deck a few minutes too late. The roundtable was already chatting with my dad over the radio. Brother Williamson mixed up a batch of trail mix– with extra raisins. I don’t think I have to tell you where I was. Maybe I should start scheduling my daily constitutional earlier so that I can get upstairs on time. But that would require thinking ahead.
“And then, we’re all standing in the hallway waiting for Landers to finish pissing in the bathroom when we hear a gunshot...” My cousin was telling the assembled crew of this journey to Guntersville.
Apparently, this is some type of family reunion. I’m surprised Bob wasn’t there because he adds so much to a conversation. And I know Bob isn’t technically family, he’s pretty close though, being one of the only people from The Similar, my parent’s group.
Easy nodded when he saw me. “He’s here now. What were you telling us about Columbus?”
My cousin began. “Well, Columbus Air Force Base is probably less than a mile from the Tenn-Tom. You’ll know where to stop because there’s a bright yellow motorboat docked at a little pier directly north of the base. You can’t miss it. If you get off there and walk in a straight line, there’s no way you will miss the place. “
Thanks, Benji! I don’t know how I’d ever travel in a directly southern route without your guidance. It’s nearly painful when I realized my entire family treats me like one of those guys that almost drown in the bathtub when he is a baby and ends up living with his mother until she dies from old-age. Maybe he was giving simplistic instructions because there were going to be women accompanying us on our journey. You know? Because they’re horrible with directions! Yeah, I just went there.
I looked at my brother stupidly. “Why?”
He mentally face palmed as if this had already been explained. “Tell Mo why we need to go to Columbus.”
He held the radio out to me as if an extra arm length would make an idiot like me understand. Benji spoke through the radio after a sigh. “There’s a Hercules on the tarmac loaded with ammo. We just took a small amount of 5.56. There should be more than enough rounds to last you for the rest of your trip to the ocean.”
I was glad about that, raiding shitty little pawn shops for insignificant amounts of ammo is the opposite of fun. He made sure to add, “Oh, and we clipped the cargo net before we left.” It’s a good thing he explained that. I would’ve thought someone else broke into a plane after the zombie apocalypse and snapped the safety net when they left.
Does ammunition not get weathered by the elements? I mean, he’s talking like he just left the fucking door open. Spiders could have gotten in there. Oh shit, I better not mention that to Easy! Whether they are there or not, he will see spiders and end up screaming like a girl before balling up into the fetal position. I’m not going to say it wouldn’t freak the shit out of me to have a hairy tarantula crawling up my arm, but he nearly goes into cardiac arrest when there’s a garden spider on the other side of the room!
My dad sounded. “So y’all have any trouble with your last few locks in Alabama?”
A few of the crew looked at me and lightly chuckled before I returned. “Nah. Piece of cake.” I paused for a second before another thought came to me. “Oh! How’s everything going with the gentle giant?” Yes, I knew before I said it that my dad wouldn’t get the joke. The nickname for Michael Brown? Please tell me you got that.
My mother was within hearing distance. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it with others in the vicinity. He hesitated and quickly spoke. “Uh, a pair of twin girls. Yesterday.”
It was clear that subject wasn’t to be discussed at this very moment. We just got blown off by my dad!
“Benji has been going out in some of the smaller planes and rescuing survivors.”
I cut him off before he could go on. “Isn’t there some kind of helicopter plant or something at the Albertville Airport?”
He responded like he had
not completely forgotten there was an airport in Albertville. “Yeah. We need to see if we can find a chopper. That will make landings a lot easier.”
Daddy broke away from the radio. After several seconds, he again spoke. “Benji has already been there. Recovered a Seahawk and made a rescue with it.” Well, not everyone with my last name is completely worthless. Just the ones named Elmo.
He realized our allotted radio time was drawing to a close before any of the crew did. “Well, I figure it’s about time for bed. Let me know how the next few dams go.” Sure we will, if we are not all blue and pants-less .
“Roger. Ironman. Over and out.” I’m guessing my dad fist pumped at even more unneeded proof that Easy was the good son.
You know, I just realized my mother didn’t say “I love you” to me. Shit, I didn’t even get to speak to her! She probably had a personal conversation with every member of the crew before I got up here. But God forbid if she’s going to come back into the room an acknowledge one of her offspring. I could only be killed by this time tomorrow. I’m thankful my family is so LOVING.
21
Mo Journal Entry 7
TODAY WAS A strange one, the entire crew did nothing. Well, besides the usual chores of living on a wooden sailboat, fishing for survival, and avoiding sinking the ship.
This was one of the few days no one had been tasked to enter the dark and musky tomb of a dam. It was boring not to constantly be in the shit, under the threat of constant death. Most of my day was spent performing the grueling task of finishing up the last season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD with Gene. After that we gathered on the deck for a bountiful feast of fresh unseasoned fish with a side of fresh unseasoned fish. Thank God for ketchup.
The entire crew sat around the table. Everyone was having their own little conversations in groups of two or three. The Expert looked over to the medicine man. “Hey Doc, I was scouting the other night and saw a Tango spear fishing. Is that normal?”
What the fucking hell? She witnessed a mighty mental evolutionary leap in wild animals and it just slipped her mind for a few days? Compare it to Neil Armstrong running into a damn chimpanzee on his lunar expedition. The primate is wearing a spacesuit made by The Planet of the Apes government; he has a conversation with this primate. Armstrong waits until he gets back to earth and a week later he casually mentions it to the NASA scientists. “Oh, I ran into a super intelligent monkey on the moon. I thought you guys should know about it.”
Jesus Christ, I know she’s been in denial since the beginning that the peevies are not actually sick people but are instead terrorists or KGB agents, but this is just willful ignorance. How can you see that an animal is self-aware enough to hunt with tools and still treat it as a communist spy seeking to bring down capitalism? It’s nearly as breathtakingly stupid as the idea of democratic socialism. She can plainly see that they are blue, naked, mindlessly craving human flesh, and have shiny yellow eyes. I find it amazing that she can deny the infected are anything other than former humans turned into Hollywood monsters that really want to eat you.
We have been on the river a century or two, I couldn’t tell you right now what the exact date is. Most nights since the beginning of our journey down the river, her definition of scouting has been to sit inside a hunting blind on the deck and watch the peevies onshore through her night vision monocular. I sure am glad we don’t have to draw straws for that arduous task. There’s no way I could handle sitting and doing nothing for hours.
I wanted to ask a list of questions. “Was it able to see you? Did it actually catch any fish? Was the spear just a sharpened stick?” There were a million queries that came to mind. But I could do nothing more than drop my head. I was dumbfounded that we were being watched over by a woman who thought zombies didn’t exist.
The doctor held his chin in a typical pose. He finally mused, “I have never seen this particular action, but I knew things like this were likely to happen in the evolution of the infected. I’m sure we will see more humanlike actions from the afflicted in the future.”
I thought about standing and yelling or running to my room in tears but was too stupefied to make a move. Holy shit! When they start sprouting wings and fucking swimming he will probably laugh. “Oh, well I expected that.”
The crew began growing quiet as the conversation continued. I felt that I needed to insert myself into it before I started giggling or crying. “What else can you tell us about them, Doc?”
I could see others around the table nod as if they were thinking the same thing I was. He stood to put us all through Peevie 101. “Well, some of you may know the infection does affect areas of the brain, but actually settles in the cardiovascular muscle. It acts as nearly every disease or virus or plague before it, its primary goal is to spread. No one knows if the infected are actually attempting to kill and eat when they bite a human or if they are just simply transferring the infection in the easiest, most animalistic way. Once the infection travels through the frontal lobe and cerebral cortex, it makes its way into the left ventricle and constricts the atrium. This creates...”
“It’s like heart disease?” Brother Williamson interrupted. He bumped his fist against his chest. “I got that.”
The Medicine Man politely chuckled. “Something like that, but I wouldn’t...“
My jock brother inserted himself into the questioning. “Does that mean there’s a cure? We can just give them heart medication?”
The cardiologist’s sighed. “I wish it were that simple. None of my tests have given any positive signs of reversal in the infected.”
Easy came back. “But you said we are going to get a cure. Didn’t you?”
“A supposed cure.” Dr. George responded using air quotes. “But even if this cure actually completely reverses the sickness, I guarantee that it is more complex than a simple beta blocker.”
Mr. Clean nodded and seemed satisfied with his answer. I continued the questioning. “Why did they start coming out during the daylight?”
The physician shook his head. “I am not an ophthalmologist, but it appears their pupils were dilated before and they somehow rapidly evolved and constricted.” He added at my raised eyebrows, “And no, I have absolutely no clue what caused this evolutionary jump.”
The Oracle had been smiling and knowingly nodding at each revelation. You could just make our lives easier and tell us this shit instead of making us wait for thoughts to randomly come to our deranged senior citizen’s mind.
The Old Friend spoke up from the other side of The Love Interest. “So what’s next?”
Sitting next to Sarah, I was trying to get her to talk to me. After forcing her on this journey, she originally refused to even acknowledge me. I had made myself seem pitiful enough in the past few weeks so at least she had to admit that I existed. Holy shit, I’m on a roll! Maybe I can bite my tongue or something and force myself to cry, she might feel bad enough to talk to me. I can one day see myself again having regular sexual relations with my girlfriend. This whole zombie apocalypse thing kind of killed off most of my competition. She can’t just leave me for all those other eligible guys. Is it wrong to see some good in the death of the entire world?
The Oracle screamed at me from his seat at the table. “Cracka, watchoo thank bout corporeal punishment?”
I slowly turn from Sarah, confident I had misheard him. I expected a hint of a smile. Upon finding genuine curiosity I jokingly replied. “I guess you’d go incorporeal on their asses!”
I began chuckling. My laughter soon faded when no sound came from my large friend. I could feel his “go to hell” stare boring through me as he bellowed. “Mufucka, corporeal!”
After his second mispronunciation, I was absolutely positive he was using the wrong word. “Dude, you mean corporal. You only use corporeal when you’re talking about ghosts and shit.”
He visibly reddened with anger and embarrassment. “You mufuckin’ white cock gobbler. Dat what I say!”
He shot up from his seat faster than I thought possible, tipping the chair. He stuck a meaty finger in my face. “You sayin’ you can’t undastand my gramma? You sayin’ it ’cause I’s black.” He gasped as if just coming to a shocking realization. “You racist!”
I remained silent, unsure how to defend myself from this ridiculous accusation. Nearly this exact scene has played out dozens of times since May, usually ending in my epic failure to make myself look like anything other than David Duke. Now I feel like a racist just for knowing who that is!
My eyes cut away from the man about to have a heart attack to my opposite side. There sat The Love Interest and The Old Friend on her other side, quietly scooting away from me, looking anywhere but in my direction. I turned back to glance around Smokes, noticing that the ebony and ivory couple in the two seats behind him had also moved away. This clearly told me I was on my own for this battle.
I am a white guy from rural Alabama. I have been accused of being a bigot countless times in my life. It’s beyond understanding why I cannot realize that there is no fucking point in trying to argue against it. Of course I don’t hate anyone because of skin color, but I cannot win this argument.
Rather than document my white, slave owning ass being verbally handed to me, let me give some advice to all white people that get into this predicament. Don’t try to defend yourself, just apologize and ask forgiveness.
I suppose an alternative would be to simply get off subject and try to distract your accuser. See? I’m saying that black people are easily distracted. Damn, I can’t win.
Even I would accuse me of having the fourteen words tattooed on my back for that one. Jesus, just for knowing that the phrase exists, Smokes would tell me I’m probably going to name my first child after George Lincoln Rockwell. Holy shit, I’m on a Jim Crow ROLL!
