by Mark Tufo
I pulled my arms in so that I could start to toss the rocks in front of me out of the hole. After a few missed attempts, I had them all out. Just that added bit of space comforted me, that or I had finally decided to pull my fate out of the hands of a man aptly named John the Tripper. I turned my hands outward, and with my finger tips, sought to seek purchase on the solid ground ahead of me. Simultaneously, I placed my feet against the wall and then I pulled or pushed as the case may be. Nothing! I was straining; every muscle I could use in the fight to freedom was being exerted to its maximum. Still nothing…then a sliver. I moved no more than a hair’s width, but I fucking moved! I redoubled my efforts.
Pebbles scrabbled past as I wiggled, writhed, and shook my way forward. I hadn’t moved more than six inches and I was bathed in a sweat that had a hard time finding a release from my lard-caked body. I felt at least one fingernail rip free from its moorings, I didn’t stop to mourn its loss, and I pressed on. Occasionally I could hear John’s screams, but the rush of blood through my ears made it difficult to ascertain how near or how far away he was.
My entire body was through the small channel. It wasn’t exactly voluminous where I was, but comparatively speaking, it was the damned Grand Canyon. Okay, maybe more like Brice Canyon, but a canyon nonetheless. My finger tips were at the edge, I gripped it and heaved. I fell out like a bowling bowl from the bottom of a defective carrying bag (with a solid thunk if the analogy wasn’t clear enough).
I stayed on the ground for a moment, reveling in my victory. I had completely torn off the fingernail on my left index finger. The rest would take expert ministrations from a team of Asian pedicurists to get back to something acceptable and I didn’t give one shit. I stood up and winced as I placed my hands over my head—this time to shout, “I’m free!”
John was at least a hundred yards away he was backpedaling as two deaders with outstretched arms were almost within grasp. I couldn’t tell from this distance what it was, but something tripped the Tripper and down he went. The zombies were nearly upon him.
I ripped off my tin foil hat and as I screamed it, I thought it. “COME TO ME!”
***
“What was that?” Tomas asked, wincing as he reached up and placed his hands against his head.
Eliza turned to the west in the direction the summons had come. She wiped her hand across the bottom of her nose and was surprised to see a droplet of blood.
“The game is afoot,” was all she said.
***
The zombies did not hesitate as they turned away from John and made a straight line right for me. I walked out to meet them as they got closer.
“Stop,” I ordered them as I grabbed each of the sides of their heads in my palms and drove their skulls together. The impact shattered the bone and echoed throughout the small valley we found ourselves in. They fell in a heap like the lovers that they appeared to have been once upon a time.
“The hat, man, put the hat back on!” John was shouting as he ran closer.
I was screaming to the heavens; anger, pride and satisfaction were warring with each other to become the dominate feeling. I turned and walked a few steps back towards the cavern opening, then fell to my knees. John raced past me and then came running back he hastily put my cap back on, making sure not to snap my face with the rubber band.
***
“He’s gone,” Tomas said. He was trying to stand back up having gone down after the scream. It had taken him a moment to realize who or what had shredded through his mind.
“Not for good I think,” Eliza said as she watched her brother struggling to get back up.
“Is that not reason enough to stay away and let him have his corner of the world, Eliza?” Tomas said as he finally got to his feet. He was shaking, but he felt sturdy enough.
“He grows stronger.”
“He was dead. How is this possible?” Tomas asked his sister.
“What about that bullshit you preach about no direct intervention?” Eliza yelled to the sky.
“Eliza?”
“Don’t you dare, Tomas! This changes nothing. If anything, it makes our ultimate destination that much more important. You should have let him die on that roof. I would have honored the agreement I made, at least for a little while. His family would have been safe, maybe for a generation, their lives flash by so quickly anyway.”
***
“Where’s your poncho?” John asked me as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “You look like shit, bad trip?” As he sat down next to me, he pulled a crisp white joint from somewhere. Even more impressive was the lighter. He lit it up and took a grand toke before handing it to me.
The birds chirped in the distance, a slight breeze blew from east to west across my body, the sun shone brightly upon my face, an ant walked across my size thirteen women’s shoes. I grabbed the bone, looked at it for a moment, and took a big hit, bathing myself in its calming smoke.
“Thank you for that,” I said to John as I exhaled.
“Nice mellow shit, huh?” John asked with a smile as he took the marijuana cigarette back.
“That too,” I told him as I let the buzz wash over my mind. “But I meant that.” I pointed to the sliver-sized opening in the small mound directly in front of us.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John said as he took the rolled paper almost down to the halfway point.
I had a sneaking suspicion that he did, especially with the sideways smile he was wearing when he handed the joint back, but I guess that also could be attributed to the fact that we were now both stoned. What can I say, I’m a cheap date. We stayed there a while longer, me on my knees, John sitting Indian style (right, right, Native American style). Although I don’t really know if it’s still necessary to keep up with political correctness in this new age of man.
“Candy?” John asked as he split a peanut butter cup in two.
I ate it before he had even put his half in his mouth. “Rorry. Stress makes me hungry,” I told him.”
“Did you get the tickets?” he asked as he savored his half.
I shook my head.
“That’s alright. Maybe we can catch them next time. We should head for the airport,” he said as he arose, he extended a hand to help me up.
The events of the day had impaired me far worse than I had imagined. My legs began to instantly cramp and every scrape and bruise I had on my body was letting itself be known. We had twenty miles to traverse and I didn’t think I could make it twenty yards; this was compounded with the fact that, because of the weed, I was even thinking slower.
“Man I’m tired,” John said, echoing my thoughts. “Do you have a car?”
“Let’s go see,” I told him as we headed away from the motel that couldn’t have been more than a quarter mile, then I realized we were still in a bit of a lurch. My ‘broadcast’ for the zombies to come to me had been reached by anything within a certain range and then I realized they weren’t moving. I stopped to laugh, my gut started to hurt I was letting go so deeply. John had no idea why I was laughing, but he was not one to shy away from a good time, he joined in the merriment.
“What’s so funny, man?” John asked as he started wiping tears away from his face.
It was a few more minutes before I could compose myself enough to speak. “You see the zombies...I mean funkies?”
“Yeah, man,” he answered, looking over to the motel. “Hey, what’s the matter with them? They look frozen.”
I was laughing full tilt again. “They’re not moving because I told them not to.”
“They’re very well behaved,” he said in all seriousness.
“Don’t you see, man? We didn’t need to go through the damned cavern, Trip.” John was looking at me strangely. “Forget it, it’s over now. I hope I can forget it as quickly as you can. Let’s go get your van.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot that was here.”
We headed back to the motel. I wanted to kill the zombies, but it somehow seemed cruel to kill
something defenseless. I know, I know, that’s an asinine thought; they wouldn’t think twice if the roles were reversed. I also had John to think about. He had to check each and every one of the frozen bastards out as we walked by. I know he wouldn’t have approved of my slaughtering them, and what he thought mattered, even if he would have forgotten by dinner.
He kept waving his hands in front of their faces. The only thing that moved on the zombies was their eyes and it was unnerving. Their eyes followed us like those of paintings in a haunted mansion. There were at least twenty or thirty zombies in the parking lot all oriented towards where I had called them from. And at least another half dozen were inside the cabin having not yet found an exit by the time my ‘stop’ command had been issued. I had never before controlled so many zombies at once, I was unsure if it was something I would even be able to do again. The range of emotions I had been feeling when I did it would be difficult to match.
“They’re like mannequins,” John said, waving his hand dangerously close to one of the zombie’s mouths.
“Maybe don’t get so close,” I told him.
“Are they playing some sort of game?”
“Not one that I want to play.”
“Me neither,” John said as he took one final glance behind him before getting into his van.
I don’t know if to this very day you could go down to North Carolina and see those zombies standing there but they hadn’t moved when I finally lost them in my rearview mirror.
“Want a beer?” John asked, reaching in to the backseat and opening the cooler.
“Sounds about perfect.” I told him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BT, Gary and Mrs. D
Gary chanced a look back as Deneaux rocketed down the roadway. “I can’t see BT!” he yelled in an attempt to get past the whipping of the wind.
“I haven’t had this much fun in decades!” Mrs. Deneaux yelled back. “I guess I could use a cigarette, though.” She opened the throttle up a little bit more. Gary looked over her shoulder and realized they were nearing a hundred and ten miles an hour. He gripped her bony waist a little bit tighter.
She laughed for a few moments and let the bike begin to coast down to a stop. BT was barely a dot on the horizon as Mrs. Deneaux was finishing her smoke.
“Aren’t cigarettes just like potato chips?” Gary asked her.
“What?” she said as she ground the stub out under her heel.
“Nobody can have just one.”
“Miss your friend?” she asked as she effortlessly produced another smoke.
“I’ll tell you what I don’t miss.”
She looked over at him.
“I don’t miss going a hundred and ten miles per hour.”
“You must have sucked your mama’s teets too long,” she said as she took a puff from her cigarette.
“I was bottle fed,” he replied, not able to think of anything else to say.
She ‘hurumphed’ and looked back to the open road that they needed to travel.
BT pulled up a few minutes later. He had a death grip on his handlebars and looked like a crash test dummy due to sitting so rigid in his seat.
“She’s fucking nuts,” Gary said to BT. “Please let me ride with you?”
“Did she almost crash?” BT asked, slowly getting off his bike.
Gary shook his head with a questioning look.
“I almost dumped twice. You’re better off with her.”
“She’s trying to beat the speed of sound, BT.”
“Is this love fest over?” Deneaux asked, throwing her butt to the side of the road. “We’ve got a lot of miles to roll and it looks like we might get some weather.”
“Can we maybe find something with four wheels?” Gary asked.
“And miss out on all this fun?” BT added as he rubbed blood back into his arms.
“We can find something for you two ladies, but I’m keeping this ride. Let’s go, bitch,” Mrs. Deneaux said to Gary.
“I don’t really appreciate that,” he said as he walked over towards her.
“It’s just an expression.” She smiled.
“Could you maybe at least keep me in sight this time?” BT asked as he reluctantly hopped back on his bike.
“I need gas,” was her reply as she started the bike up.
“How far is Maine from here?” Gary asked.
“Gotta be close to seven hundred miles,” BT told him. “And then another hundred and fifty or so to get to Ron’s.”
“At top speed we could make it in six and a half hours,” Deneaux said, staring at Gary trying to gauge his reaction.
Gary had no desire to do the math and figure out how fast they would be traveling. He once again wrapped his arms around her waist, fearful he might break her in half, then he would be ‘ghost’ riding a ‘murder cycle’. And that wouldn’t do…not at all.
Somewhat true to her word, Deneaux kept her speed down to a semi-suicidal rate somewhere in the mid-seventies. BT was sort of keeping pace as he pushed his bike to a speed right outside his comfort zone of sixty.
“Fucking old bat,” he said as another bug slammed into the side of his face. “Who in their right mind would want to ride one of these things?” Shit Mike must have been a world class rider. BT grinned at the thought. “I miss you, man,” BT said, stealing a quick glance upwards. “I hope you made it there.”
Deneaux would slow down as they approached cars on the side of the road, Gary checked out more than a few, looking for ones that weren’t battle damaged or had gas and keys handy. It was the only thing keeping them from losing BT again.
“Stop stalling or I’ll smoke while I’m riding,” Deneaux threatened.
“I’m not stalling, I’m looking carefully,” Gary told her.
“I see you repeatedly looking back for your boyfriend. He’ll catch up. Come on, I think I see a traffic jam up ahead, I’m sure there’ll be something that you two girly men will be able to use, maybe a mini-van or a Prius.”
“Fine,” Gary said reluctantly.
Within a few minutes they were up by a snarl of cars that was L.A. worthy.
“What happened?” Gary asked as he got slowly off the bike.
A snarky comment was on Deneaux’s lips, but even she was lost in the devastation that was Route 22.
Even with the motorcycles it was going to be difficult to get around the carnage. Mrs. Deneaux brought the bike to halt at the outer-most edge of the debris field. She stood up to get a better view, shielding her eyes as she tried her best to see the end. She was not successful.
Gary got off the back; his legs were weak partly from Deneaux’s excessive speed, but mostly from the devastation in front of them. “It must go for miles,” he said flatly.
“I would think you’d be able to find a car that would suit your needs in there.” Deneaux motioned with her hand as she grabbed a cigarette from her saddle bag.
“This doesn’t affect you?” Gary asked incredulously.
“What? I’m smoking a cigarette aren’t I?”
“These were people with hopes and dreams.”
“What would you like me to say, Gary? I don’t have any words of comfort for you, I didn’t know them.”
“And if you did?”
“Probably still wouldn’t care.” She took another drag. “You’re going in there?” she asked as Gary stepped closer to the disaster.
“Yes.”
“Then you might want to take your rifle off your back.”
Gary’s hands were trembling as he pulled on the sling to take the gun off his shoulder.
“Is the safety off?”
“Of course it is!” he said hotly. He quietly moved the selector button to ‘OFF’ hoping Deneaux didn’t hear. Gary was twenty or so feet into the wreckage when he began to hear the comforting roar of BT’s bike approaching.
A few moments later, BT shut his bike down and dismounted. “Wait up, Gary, I’ll come with you.”
“He has been.” Mrs. Deneaux said
.
“What?” BT said as he took his rifle out of the special side mount built into the bike.
“If he went any slower, I’d be able to watch him age.”
BT checked his magazine and quickly caught up to Gary. “What the hell happened here?” BT asked Gary as they walked past a burned out pick-up truck.
“I don’t know, but whatever it was it involved the military. I’ve seen a few dead soldiers around.”
It was difficult to get an accurate picture of what had happened. What had not been burned to a crisp had been devoured by zombies and/or animals; and what was left after that had been picked through by survivors. The only thing that could be easily discerned was that a great battle had been waged here. Thousands of zombies littered the far side of the road, the highway itself, and the beltway between the east and west routes. Not including the ones that were interspersed with the cars on this side of the roadway. Between dead bodies, zombies, and twisted metal, there was not a whole lot of room left for the trio to continue their journey.
“I don’t like this at all, Gary,” BT said as he stood up from the car he was looking inside. He tried his best to not think of the empty child seat.
“Should we go back and find another route?”
“And that’s a problem, we go back and we run the risk of running back into Q-Ball and a few of his best friends. I look at that and all I can see is ambush. That would be all your brother’s fault by the way.”
Gary smiled. “So I guess we’re going forward?”
“The devil we don’t know in this case is better than the one we do know.”
“Should we keep looking for a car?”
“Won’t do any good if we find one here.”
“You’re right,” Gary said. They couldn’t take two steps without dodging something; anything less than a city plow would only get mired in the devastation.
