Renewal 7 - When the Student Is Ready

by Jf Perkins

  Seth raised his eyes, felt a new surge of adrenalin, and leaped into the truck. Terry pivoted back inside, and grabbed for the column shifter. The diesel roared and Terry started to turn back the way they had come.

  “No!” Seth cried. “That way! That way!”

  Terry reversed his turn to head for a wide street a hundred feet away. The truck was heeling hard to the left, and the tires were groaning in complaint. A three-inch rock bounced off the corner of the hood and skittered up to the windshield before rolling off from the force of the turn.

  “Turn the cranks!” Seth shouted, remembering the retractable armor. He grabbed the second lever on the door and jerked the thing in circle until a steel plate rolled up to cover his side window.

  Seth was in an insane cranking match with the handle on his door and the larger crank on the headliner at the same time. It was the world’s ugliest dance move. He was still turning the handles when Terry turned left on Jackson Street. Filthy people were popping out of every gap along the street. They peppered Big Bertha with anything they could throw, and the truck echoed with a continuous clatter that vied with the roaring diesel for volume. Terry drove by peering through a narrow slit in the windshield armor, which made the sounds seem that much more intense. By the time Big Bertha was racing through the remains of downtown Tullahoma, the quasi-people were getting desperate. The next meal, Terry guessed they thought, was getting away.

  They began to jump at the truck. For every ten attempts, nine of them bounced off the truck with a sickening crunch, or rolled under the tires, sending a lurch through the cab. The tenth managed to cling to the truck. Terry felt a rising panic as he watched the thing slide towards the windshield. There was something so primeval and horrifying about being someone’s meal that terry couldn’t decide what to do. In reality, he probably could have kept a half dozen cannibals as hood ornaments with no risk at all. Bertha was well built, but he couldn’t think at the time.

  “Swerve! Get it off!” Seth screamed, apparently just a bit less panicked then the driver.

  Terry jerked the wheel to the left, and the cannibal held on as its bare feet flung violently to the right, harder to the right and the legs went left. One hand slipped free, but the thing on the hood regained its grip.

  “Harder!”

  Terry gave the wheel a mighty turn to the left, and as soon as the truck shifted momentum, he went back to the right even harder. The creature flew off the hood, leaving Terry’s narrow view, but in the process, another one had grabbed the brush guard on the front. Terry went back to weaving in the chaos of flying bodies. In an instant of bad timing, he juked left as a cannibal body passed under the dual back tires. With no traction on the rear wheels in that particular moment, the back end of the truck slid around to the right. Big Bertha was skidding almost exactly sideways. This situation was well outside Terry’s skill level. He just held on.

  At in the first second, nothing changed. Sliding sideways, squealing tires, and a freaking cannibal on the bumper. In the next second, the tires began to hook to the pavement, causing a rapid deceleration and flinging the creature violently off the truck. In the third second, the tires had stopped, but the truck... not quite. Bertha tilted as the left side came off the ground. Terry couldn’t see it, but swarms of cannibals were piling under the left side of the truck, trying to help it fall on its side. In the fourth and fifth seconds, they almost managed it. Big Bertha hovered just below the tipping point. Terry grabbed the door and held on. Seth followed some instinctive urge and almost climbed on top of Terry. That may have made the difference. In the sixth second, Bertha won. She ponderously crushed the life out of a whole mess of straining, snapping cannibals.

  Terry didn’t waste any time. He was churning through the pile of bodies even before Bertha stopped rocking from side to side. He could not have been higher on adrenalin, his eyes zipping all over the narrow field of view. It was over. However many he had mowed down, it was enough to send the others back to the lair.

  Following Seth’s half-guessed directions, Terry trucked through once-friendly neighborhoods at high speed, in search of the way out of Tullahoma. Only when they were on the highway, five miles out of town, did the adrenalin give way to total exhaustion.

  “Son of a bitch,” Seth said, encompassing the whole ordeal.

  “You were right. Bad idea.” Terry said to his big friend.

  “When I said bad idea, I was thinking someone might try to shoot us, not eat us.”

  “Could’ve been worse...” Terry said.

  “Really? How?”

  “Could’ve been zombies.”

  Chapter 7 – 4

  Terry and Seth traded jokes on the last few miles back to Manchester, but the laughter never really settled their nerves. Seth was ready to head back to Teeny Town to report to Bill and to get some rest, but Terry wanted to stop by the square before they went back. He was hoping to get another chance to talk to Charlie, and if nothing else, to soak up some of the rare happy atmosphere.

  The town looked abandoned until they made the last turn into the square. The convoy of state trucks was still parked on the north side, doling out sacks of food to the long lines of Coffee County families. Dusty was sitting on the hood of the truck he had borrowed from the community, hand folded behind his head as he enjoyed the long afternoon light, and the sounds of joy.

  A few people had naturally turned to look as the truck approached. Terry saw jerking heads and double takes in the crowd. Faces turned to surprise, and then shock, and finally horror, as people ran away from Big Bertha. Dusty jumped to his feet on the hood of his truck, and after a quick look, put his face in his hands.

  Terry pulled next to Dusty, and hopped out of the truck. He was expecting happy, but he was hearing screams and angry shouting. Dusty looked at Terry, and then pointedly shot his attention at Big Bertha. Terry turned around and it all became clear. Bertha was splattered with blood and gore, mostly unidentifiable bits of fleshy organic mush. Terry’s mouth dropped open for three beats.

  Dusty angrily asked, “Why’d you bring that here, dumbass?”

  “I wasn’t think, Dusty. It never occurred to me,” Terry answered.

  “Well, you’d better come up with an explanation before you scare our potential help out of killing anything ever again.”

  Terry jumped up on the hood of Dusty’s truck, held up his hands, and yelled. “Sorry, folks! Bad planning on my part. We just got back from Tullahoma, and...”

  He saw nods in the crowd, and people immediately turned back to whatever they were doing before he showed up in his rolling horror show. Apparently, that’s all they needed for explanation. Everyone knew Tullahoma was off limits to regular folks.

  “You need to get that thing out of here, Terry. Now!” Dusty pointed in the direction of the community.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry.” Terry hopped into the cab and started the engine before he even settled in his seat. Seth was right behind him. The diesel roared as he backed up and accelerated out of the town square.

  “Damn, I never even thought...” Terry told Seth.

  “Me neither. I guess Big Bertha just seems untouchable.” Seth replied.

  “I wonder how we can get her clean.”

  “Oh, we can head out to the shop. It’s below the water pickup, and they have a big pump and hose on the bottom lake.”

  “Ok, sounds like a plan. Not that I’m looking forward to it.” Terry said.

  “Jesus, no. That’s nasty.”

  Terry realized that the Manchester town square was every bit as unnerving as Tullahoma. He had a new case of the jitters.

  Twenty minutes later, they had Big Bertha parked behind the community’s workshop, on the edge of the lowest of three manmade lakes. Terry had followed Seth’s directions past the normal west gate entrance, and circled out near Kirk’s house in the woods, to take a red gravel road down to the water. Knowing the typical speed of rumor in Teeny Town, it was a good bet the literally everyone knew about the bloody armo
red truck by now, and sure enough, a few of the guard showed up to see for themselves.

  Rob, one of Terry’s teammates from Nashville, showed up along with two young men Terry had not met. “Holy mother!” Rob shouted. “What happened to ya’ll?”

  “Cannibals.” Terry replied. He was distracted with the brass valve on the end of the hose. Mr. Hall had helped them set up the pump and had left as quickly as he could.

  “Yeah. Insane, filthy, mutant, rock-throwing, Tullahoma cannibals.” Seth added.

  “You went to Tullahoma?” Rob asked, rhetorically. “You got off easy.”

  “As you can see, my friend. It wasn’t all that easy.” Seth said.

  “Well, that depends on whether you still have all your toes.” Rob smirked. “Cannibals love toes. They’re just like early potatoes for those people.”

  “Well, that explains why you run so slow. Voice of experience , I reckon.” Seth shot back.

  “Hey, I hate to interrupt your man-flirting, but does anyone know how to turn this thing on?” Terry asked.

  Seth walked over, and took the nozzle from Terry. He flipped a small safety catch underneath, and pulled back the main lever. “Just like that!” Seth shouted over the loud hiss of the high pressure hose. “Watch this!” he turned the hose upward at a steep angle, shooting the high-volume stream all the way across the small lake. He watched the water splatter on the far shore for a few satisfying seconds, and redirected the stream straight onto Big Bertha. Where the water struck, the truck was instantly clean. Unfortunately, half of the filth ricocheted back toward the men. As the first gory droplets struck, they ran out of range. This retreat included Seth, who dropped the hose, as he sprinted away. The hose was now a huge angry snake, flailing at random around the yard. The nozzle could have easily killed if it struck someone on the head. Terry got the first good idea of the afternoon when he ran to the pump and shut down its motor. The snake died, twitching and bleeding water on the grass.

  “Ok. Let’s try that again. Hit it at an angle this time, Big Guy.”

  Soon, the water was sheeting rapidly across the heavy steel armor, and the gore was washing away in a thin red shower. Seth washed for a long time after the truck was actually clean, he worked in the fenders and underneath the truck. He went at it with the intensity of a man who really wanted every last molecule of cannibal off his ride. The truck washing left disgusting bits on the grass. Terry backed the truck away and Seth proceeded to wash the yard where it had stood. Finally when all evidence was gone, Seth closed the valve on the nozzle and nodded at Terry, who killed the motor on the pump.

  Without a word, Seth marched uphill to the middle lake, stripped down to his underwear, and dove into the green water. Terry and the other guys decided it was good idea, and followed suit. They spent twenty minutes playing in the water, swimming back and forth and trying to drown each other in the way boys do. Seth had an unfair advantage in that game.

  “Ok, I think I feel clean now,” Seth announced, and climbed out of the water on the grassy sloping bank. He hated to put his “cannibal clothes” back on, but there were no other options at the moment. He promised himself to change as soon as he got home.

  The group walked back down to Big Bertha. Terry opened the back of the truck, and offered Rob and the guys and ride. He and Seth took their normal positions as Terry started the diesel. They crawled slowly around the yard to the front side of the shop, where Terry picked up the access road, and made the two minute drive back to the community. He pulled Big Bertha into the West Barn, and carefully locked up the truck before pocketing the keys and heading over to Bill’s house.

  The other guys scattered, but Seth and Terry were approached by no less than five different people on the two hundred foot walk, all wanting to know what had happened. Terry escaped each encounter by saying that they needed to report to Bill first. That worked remarkably well in the community. Bill was a respected leader.

  Sally opened the door to the Carter’s home. Terry smiled reflexively when he saw her, and she smiled back. She seemed to know enough to refrain from verbally attacking him. She could wait. They marched upstairs, and met a serious looking Bill with his leg propped up on about five pillows.

  “You boys ok?” Bill asked, as they entered his room.

  “Yeah, we’re fine. Bertha took all the heat.” Terry said.

  “Well, not all of it.” Seth added.

  “What do you mean, Big Seth?”

  “Our boy, here, did his gun magic again. I was trying to shoot, but I was too busy throwing up to aim. By the time I drew a bead, the first pack was down. I say pack, because there were two dogs running flat out for me, and Mr. Wizard, here, shot them both at 30 yards with a handgun.” Seth was a little breathless. He wasn’t much for long speeches. “And, he was dangling out the side of the truck at the time.”

  “What do you say about that, Mr. Shelton?” Bill seemed more curious than upset.

  “I don’t know, Bill. It was like in Nashville. I saw Seth getting sick. I was trying to talk him into the truck when I caught sight of the cannibals coming. I heard this weird noise, and I just did it. Then, when Seth got in the truck, it was crazy after that. There were just a few seconds of calm before there were cannibals everywhere.”

  “All right, Terry. You go talk to Kirk in the morning. Maybe he can help you make sense of it.” Bill said. “So, I guess we can forget about help from our neighbors in Tullahoma.”

  “I think we can either ignore Tullahoma, or we may want to think about burning the whole place down. I keep thinking about how many there were, and I can’t figure why they aren’t all over the county by now.” Terry said, with a wondering tone.

  “Cannibals are never that successful. We dealt with lots of bands in the early years. They get aggressive for a while, and then the health problems catch up with them. They usually end up eating each other, which makes them even sicker, and so on...” Bill said. “Anyway, I’m sorry I sent you two over there. I was going on the word of our usual traders in town, but I should have known that they’re in the business of making everything sound good.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be stretching the truth anymore. The first one was missing, and the second one made us both puke.” Terry said.

  Bill winced at that news. He was familiar with what they had seen. “Ok. Well, you both smell a little like fish. How about you get cleaned up and we’ll see if we can find some supper. Seth you’re welcome to stay.”

  “Thanks, Boss. I think I’d just as soon go home and get some sleep. Long day. What’s on for me tomorrow?”

  “I’ll let you know, one way or another. It was a long day for me too, Big Seth.”

  “Ok, Boss. Keep that leg up. G’night.” Seth thumped Terry on the back as he turned to leave.

  Bill listened to Seth’s size-fourteens on the steps, and waited for the front door to close with its familiar light rattle. “Do you have any spare clothes?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been keeping some in my bike box.” Terry replied.

  “Good thinking. Well, after you get changed, would you mind helping me down to the kitchen? I think I’d like to eat at the table tonight.”

  “Sure thing, Bill. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Chapter 7 – 5

  Once that thermometer started to move, it seemed to gain enthusiasm. The daytime temperatures were above zero outside our barn home by the end of May, and crossed the freezing point by mid-June. I could remember thirty-two degrees being very cold, but after the winter we had survived, it was a balmy spring day. We spent a lot of time that month gathering up animals that had frozen to death over the winter. The only good thing about living in Tennessee’s version of the North Pole was that it was easy to find unspoiled meat when the whole world was a freezer. We quickly put on some of the weight we had lost, as if our bodies were primed to absorb any food we gave them.

  The nights were still cold, but the psychology of knowing that we could survive outside during the day put the universal th
reat of the cold back in its proper place. Add a little food and we regained some of our original group optimism. In that changed existence, however, almost any optimism was tempered by pain.

  The third day of above-freezing weather, my dad took the clear skies as a sign and took Arturo outside that late morning. He asked the rest of us to stay in the barn, which was odd. Normally he had a list of jobs for us when we rolled out of our sleeping bags. They were gone for an hour or so, before they came back and asked us to join them outside.

  I could smell the diesel fuel on the air as we lined up behind the Carroll’s modest farm house, but I didn’t make the connection until Dad walked in the back door. A minute later, he walked out with a lighter in hand and dark smoke following him out the door. We stood in amazement as the house was rapidly swallowed in flames. We were forced back ten steps as the heat began to build, melting a gray crater in the snow piled around the house. We watched it burn for a long time before Dad spoke up.

  “George asked me to do this when we could. He wanted to leave this world with Martha and the home they shared. If anyone has anything to say, now would be a good time.”

  Arturo’s eyes immediately overflowed. He seemed to have something to say, but couldn’t quite pull himself together to say it. Little Jimmy looked up at his father’s tears and took hold of some wisdom far beyond his seven years.

  “George was a good man,” Jimmy said. “Martha was good, too. I love them both. We love them both. We’ll miss them. They saved us. They’re with God now, and that’s good, too.”

  Nothing else needed to be said. Arturo hugged his son fiercely, and walked down towards the old homestead, still buried far beneath the snow. Jimmy watched him go and turned to take Lucy’s hand, which probably helped her more than it did him.

  As nice as the funeral gesture was, it was not the smartest idea. The smoke from the fire could be seen for miles, and we weren’t the only ones emerging from hibernation. Art came back from his mourning after a while; probably as much for the life he had lived as for the Carrolls. He had already made the connection.