by Jason Offutt
Terry sat silently, chewing the jerky. “You wanna beer?”
“Sure.”
A beer cracked open, Terry handed it to Andi and opened one for Nikki before popping one for himself. “That kid creeped me out from the moment I saw him,” Terry said. “He’s got that look, you know? Like he’s got a head full of squirrels, or something.”
“Yeah.”
“But what are we going to do about him?” Nikki asked. “We can’t turn him loose. He’s a baby. He’d be dead in a day.”
Good. Andi nodded. “I know. We just need to keep our eyes on him.”
The Subaru passed a gigantic wooden Bass Pro Shops building and under modern sculptures that rose over the highway, the kind of sculptures that looked a bit like sailing ships, but not enough for anyone to actually think that with any confidence. Maybe future artists would fall back into realism, if the human race lasted at all.
“What have you all been through?” Andi asked. Terry sat in silence, staring straight ahead as they approached the Lake Manawa exit. Nikki poked his shoulder.
Terry shook his head. “What? Oh, sorry.”
“You okay?”
Terry nodded. “Yeah, sure. I was just thinking about Batman.” He turned toward Andi, his brow pinched. “What superhero would most likely survive the zombie apocalypse?”
A slow hiss escaped Nikki. “Not this again.”
Andi shrugged. “I really haven’t thought about it much. Superman, I guess.”
“You’d think so,” Terry said, pointing at Andi with his beer. “But it’s gotta be Batman.”
A quick flash of George Clooney in director Joel Schumacher’s nippled batsuit flew through her head. She smiled. For the first time in months, Andi felt like she belonged somewhere. Terry didn’t seem to care the world had come to an end and Andi liked that just fine.
“Why Batman?”
Terry took a drink of beer, the cold cans they brought from the hospital now bordering on cool. “He’s the most badassed of the badassed, he wears body armor and he drives the goddamned Batmobile.”
“And he’s got a great place to hide to wait everything out.”
“Please, Andi,” Nikki said. “Don’t encourage him.”
Terry nodded like a bobblehead. “Yeah, yeah, right.”
“But you forgot something important,” Andi said. “This apocalypse was caused by an antidepressant.”
“So,” Terry said through a mouthful of jerky.
“So, who has more emotional problems than Batman? If anybody needs antidepressants, it’s Bruce Wayne. He’d be dead in ten minutes.”
Terry sat silently for a moment, chewing jerky. “You’re right, but wrong. You saw ‘The Dark Knight,’ right? Batman’s not on any kind of psychotropic medication. He can’t be. That dude’s got some serious untreated mental issues.”
“What about Super–?” Andi started, then stopped. Her right hand flew toward the window and pointed to the north. The city of Council Bluffs seemed to be covered in railroad tracks.
“Holy shit, they’re everywhere,” Terry said. How come we didn’t see them when we drove by here before? But he knew why; they weren’t looking for railroad tracks. What else have we missed? What looked like a dozen tracks, some of them just sidings, ran parallel to South Avenue. Andi pulled off the highway onto Harry Langdon Boulevard, then onto South. The train was gone. Long gone.
“How are we going to find that train?” Nikki asked, leaning her chin on the front seat of the Subaru.
“Pull up as close as you can get,” Terry said. Andi drove off road, making use of the car’s all-wheel drive, through the grassy right of way and toward the tracks. “The trick isn’t finding the train,” Terry continued, “it’s finding the right track.”
The Subaru stopped. “Good enough?” Andi asked.
“A red carpet would have been nice, but I guess this will do,” Terry said, grinning. He opened the door and spilled out. Where did these things go? Texas? Canada? California? Hell, one may even go through Paola. I might have flattened a penny way down this track when I was a kid. He rested his palm on the hot-rolled steel, the metal warm under the summer sun. Terry closed his eyes, concentrating on the smallest vibration. Nothing. He jumped to the next set of tracks and the next. He stood in the middle of the jumble of rails when the Prius and Silverado pulled to a stop beside the road, the Silverado twenty yards back.
“What the hell are you doing?” Doug asked through the open car window. Nikki and Jenna both stepped out of their vehicles to watch Terry.
“Hey, Doug. What superhero would survive the zombie apocalypse?” Terry shouted.
Jenna turned toward Nikki. “What’d he say?”
“He’s been thinking about Batman again,” she told her. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No brainer,” Doug yelled back. “The Flash.”
“Whoa,” came out of Terry in a slow breath.
“Makes a lot of sense,” Andi told him.
Terry nodded. “Yeah, it does.”
“Now,” Doug yelled. “What are you doing?”
Terry pointed toward his feet. “I’m looking for the right track.”
“What?” Nikki asked.
Terry stepped over the tracks and onto another. He bent to touch it. “If it’s vibrating, that means a train just went through,” he yelled. “I watched a lot of cowboy movies when I was a kid. Works every time.” He moved from track to track, feeling each one, occasionally dropping onto the cinders to rest his ear on a steel beam. After feeling the last one, he walked back toward the Subaru.
“Did it work this time?” Nikki asked.
Terry shook his head. “No. It did not.”
***
Pink and orange stained the western sky like God had spilled His drink. Fading daylight cast a warm glow on Terry and Nikki as they set up the tent in a grassy spot across South Avenue, still close to the tracks, but not close enough to get hit with anything that flew off a train. That shit happens; at least it did. Doug and Andi sat in canvas camp chairs around the Coleman stove, pork and beans and Vienna sausages just starting to boil. Jenna sat on the hood of the Prius, a beer can in her hand.
“What’s the plan then?” Jenna asked, tossing the empty beer can onto the road, the aluminum clanked until it rolled to a stop into the tall grass on the shoulder. “I’m getting sick of beer. One of you is going to go find me something civilized, like a nice 2010 Sauvignon Blanc, or some shit.”
Doug patted her foot. “You okay there, honey?”
Jenna jumped off the hood and punched Doug in the arm. “Of course I’m not okay, asshole. I want to sleep in a goddamned bed. I want a goddamned steak dinner. I want clean clothes.” She hit him again. “I want a fucking shower. When am I going to have those things again, Doug? When?”
Doug caught her hand when she pulled back for another hit and drew her into his lap; Jenna struggled like a bad actor. “You’ll have those things again, honey. I promise.”
“When?” she asked, her voice soft. She gently nestled her head into Doug’s neck and wrapped her arms around him.
“I don’t know,” Doug said, pushing her hair behind her left ear. “I don’t know.”
She looked up into his eyes. “I still want my 2010 Sauvignon Blanc.”
“We’ll get it tomorrow.” Terry walked into the circle and sat in one of the chairs. “Nikki, Andi and I’ll go shopping. We need a list.”
“Soap and lots of water,” Jenna said. “Oh, and Tampons and chocolate.”
“Donnie should go with you.” Doug’s words cut into the conversation like a psychotic clown suddenly showed up to make balloon demons.
“Yes.” Andi turned toward the Silverado. Donnie stood leaning against the grill, staring at them, a Pepsi in his hands. “Hey, Donnie. Come over here.”
Donnie just stood, staring.
Andi waved him over. Donnie slowly peeled himself off the grill and walked toward the group.
“Jesus, he’s cheery,” Nikki whisp
ered.
Donnie came in almost slow motion, like he was walking under water. “Yes,” he said, approaching the tent, his eyes never left the ground. “What is it?”
“A shopping trip,” Doug said. “You, Terry, Nikki and Andi. There’s a bunch of stores back by the interstate. We’re going to need your truck. I hope you don’t mind.”
Donnie’s head snapped toward Doug, the whites of his eyes blazed in the dimming light. “I drive,” he spat. “Nobody but me drives.”
A smile grew on Doug’s face. “Of course you’ll drive,” he said, the words smooth. “You’re important to this group, Donnie. That’s why we’re giving you such an important job. Now, please join us for dinner.”
Donnie stood still, the night deathly quiet. Doug motioned him toward an empty camp chair; with the movement of his hand Donnie sat, like Doug had flipped a switch to activate him. Nikki handed out paper plates and plastic spoons and Terry dished up hot beanie wienies and potato chips. They drank beer well into the night, except Donnie; he drank Pepsi. Donnie smiled and he even laughed once, but he didn’t mean it.
***
The truck smelled like sweat. Donnie slept in the Silverado, the doors locked and the windows barely cracked. There were Bad People in the world and last night they ate beanie wienies. Nikki and Andi sat in the middle as they drove through south Council Bluffs, squeezed between Donnie and Terry. Andi could feel Donnie’s tenseness.
“There’s a Mendards up there,” Terry said, pointing ahead.
“And there’s a Walmart Supercenter that way.” Andi pointed east. “What are we getting?”
“We didn’t get a list,” Terry said, “except all that about the Tampons and chocolate.”
Nikki shoved an elbow into his ribs. “And soap.”
“Yeah and soap.” Terry looked at Donnie. “You need anything, Donnie boy?”
Strychnine and maybe an ax. “No.” He stopped, yes; there was something he wanted. Something he really, really wanted. “Chips Ahoy! I want some Chips Ahoy!”
“Walmart?” Andi asked.
“I need to stop at Menards first,” Terry said. “I want to pick up a little present for everybody.”
PVC pipe, a jar of sealant, shower curtains and a hacksaw. What kind of present is that? Andi wondered as they pushed carts through the dull gray store, their flashlights lighting the way. “Anything else?”
Terry pointed at a pallet of gallon water jugs. “That,” he said. “We can pick up the coffee can at Walmart.”
“Coffee can?”
Donnie wandered the store, holding a flashlight before him, the weak yellow beam more than a way to light his path. It was a signal, a signal for any of the Good People in this store to come out and play. He’d left the Army woman, the drunken redneck and the black-haired girl back at Aisle 9. He now walked down Aisle 17, the line of display toilets should have looked hilarious, but Donnie wasn’t in the mood.
“Come out, come out wherever you are,” he whispered. The others didn’t know what he was doing. Nope. They couldn’t hear him looking for the Good People while they were trying to be so quiet. “Come out and pla-ay.”
He found tools in Aisle 21, great wicked tools. Axes, double and single blade, sledge hammers, saws. He smiled as he watched himself run a saw through the Army woman’s neck, blood spraying across the display of screwdrivers, but he couldn’t kill the Army woman here. Nope. The three doody heads were “joined at the hip,” Daddy would say. He had to get them alone, one at a time and take care of them with Mother’s kitchen knife that sat under the driver’s seat of Daddy’s truck. Unless he could find some of the Good People to kill them for him. They were here, they had to be.
In Aisle 29, standing in front of a shelf of carpet tacks, he found a man in jeans and a dark blue button up shirt, the word “Menards” on the breast. The tall fellow shifted his weight slightly from foot to foot, his milk white eyes glaring at a box of Grip Fast carpet tacks. “Hi, buddy,” Donnie whispered, his heart jumping like a schoolgirl asked to the homecoming dance. A Good Person was here. A Good Person was here to save him, to help him take Vanessa Hagen back to Mother. The Mendards Man turned his head toward Donnie; his nose was missing. Donnie beckoned the Good Person with his hand, palm up, calling the missing nose man like he was a dog.
“Here boy,” Donnie whispered. “Come here. It’s time to play.”
The Good Person lurched toward Donnie, a pricing gun still clutched in its talon-like grip. “That a boy,” Donnie said, louder. “Come see what old Donnie’s got for you.” The zombie growled and reached toward Donnie, the pricing gun clattered to the ground as its arms flew up and he clambered for the fresh meat before him. “Good boy.”
The gunshot rang like a cannon in the warehouse-sized building. The sound of a bee buzzed past Donnie’s ear and a small round hole opened in the Good Person’s forehead; it staggered backward, fell with a slap on the hard-tiled floor and stopped moving at all. Donnie turned slowly. The Army woman – the darned doody Army woman – stood behind him, pistol leveled at Donnie’s head. “You’re lucky I came looking for you, Donnie,” the Army woman said softly, calmly, calm enough Donnie started shaking.
I’m so going to kill her first.
***
The solar generator kits, three of them, were the first things Terry set up; the next was a 17-inch flat screen TV and an Xbox. He flashed a green plastic case that read “State of Decay 2.”
Doug’s eyebrows raised as Terry sat the TV on the ground. “That going to work?”
Terry shrugged. “I don’t know, but I gotta try. It’s for zombie killing practice,” he said. “I gotta stay sharp.”
“What about me?” Jenna asked, a well-practiced pout on her lips.
Terry fished in a plastic bag and brought out a long green bottle. “A nice 2010 Sauvignon Blanc, or some shit. Just like you asked.”
“Thanks, Terry.”
“We also got Tampons and chocolate,” Nikki said. “And this.” She handed Doug a box labeled ‘Motorola Talkabout 2-Way Radio.’ “Terry thought you might like these.”
Doug took the box and sat it on his lap. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
“I know you’re upset about not being able to do anything,” Terry said, cutting open the game box.
“Yeah.”
“I mean you’re stuck in that chair,” he said.
“That’s okay, Terry. I know–”
“And you can’t do much.”
“Shut the fuck up, Terry. These are so we can keep in contact when you guys are on a run.”
Terry nodded. “Yeah, boss. That’s right.”
Doug frowned. “I have a broken ankle, Terry. I’m not brain damaged.”
The sound of ripping cardboard turned everyone’s head to the back of the truck. Andi held up a box of Sweet and Sour Chicken Helper. “We’ve got boxes of canned chicken and tuna back here, too. Adding a little variety to our diets.” He pulled apart another case of food and took out a Chef Boyardee pizza kit. “Pizza tonight.”
“But the best is yet to come,” Terry said, grabbing the PVC pipe from the bed of the Silverado. “But you can’t look.”
“Why not?” Jenna asked.
A smile washed across his face. “It’s a surprise.”
***
The PVC shower stall went up fairly quickly. Terry built it away from camp and had Donnie park the truck between it and the tent. The pipes formed a frame to hold the curtains, two rose above to six feet and were joined with a cross bar. An empty 33.9-ounce Great Value coffee can hung from the cross bar by wire; Terry had punched holes in the bottom of the can with a hammer and screwdriver.
“You just turn over a jug of water in the can, the water comes out here,” Terry said, demonstrating the holes. “And, voila, a shower.”
“Who says living during the apocalypse can’t be civilized?” Nikki hugged Terry’s waist.
“Dibs,” Jenna said, her voice high and giggly. She pulled off her shirt before she disappeared behind the
shower curtain.
Doug had poured the wine by the time Jenna and Nikki finished in the shower. They sat in front of the camp stove in terrycloth bathrobes, Doug trying to cook pizza on a device designed to cook no such thing. Their clothes lay across the hoods of the vehicles drying in the slowly sinking sun. The boys had also picked up a washtub and detergent. Nikki was right, somebody had to stay civilized. Why not them?
“Who’s next?” Terry asked, walking into the circle.
“Eww.” Jenna turned her head.
“Goddamnit, Terry.” Doug waved a spatula at him. “Close your bathrobe. Nobody wants to see that thing.”
“Jealous?”
“No, you damned Sasquatch. I’m just scared you’ll lose the truck in all that hair.”
Donnie tried to laugh, he tried really hard. Everybody else was laughing. Savages. They’re all doodyhead savages. Donnie’d thought about running away in the night, running back to Julesburg and Mother. It was too hard being around them, these Bad People. He didn’t fit with them. But the thoughts of being alone sent his belly into a fit, curling around itself like it was full of worms. He needed to stick with the plan, but the plan was taking too long. “Donnie.” somebody said. The word so faint he wasn’t sure if he’d even heard it. “Donnie.”
He looked up. It was the Army woman. Donnie tried to keep his hatred inside, all bottled up. He couldn’t let these Bad People know he knew they were bad. That would end the plan all together. “Yes,” Donnie said, his voice squeaky.
“You want to shower?”
They want me to get alone and naked. No, no, wicked lady. You won’t get me alone and naked. He shook his head. “No, you go.”
The Army woman nodded and walked behind the Silverado to the shower. Nobody saw Donnie’s hands in fists because they were in his pockets.
***
“How long are we going to wait?” Nikki asked, looking at Doug, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc in her right hand.
The small campsite across the street from the railroad tracks had grown. Terry, Andi and Donnie had gone on another shopping trip for deck umbrellas to keep them out of the scorching July sun. They’d also eaten well; Doug had whipped up a stovetop canned ham and Velveeta powdered egg quiche, which Jenna said was pretty good for a mechanic. Andi shot three rabbits; they were having them for supper. Jenna covered hers with barbecue sauce to forget what she was eating.
