by Mark Tufo
“You really are Mike?”
“One and the same.”
She looked disappointed. “I expected more,” she said as she got the truck rolling again.
‘Well fuck you, too!’ I wanted to say. “Who just got your ass out of that jam?” I asked in defense.
“Me.”
“Okay, you drove. Who gave you the ability to do that?”
“You’re right, I’m sorry, let’s start over. My name is Azile,” she said as she stuck her hand out for me to shake. I gave it a couple of pumps before she had to use it to shift gears. “We heading to Maine?”
“Are all those trucks heading there?”
She nodded tersely.
“Shit, Philly first.”
“Are you sure?”
“I promised John back there that I’d look for his wife.”
“You love your family?” she asked.
“What kind of question is that?” I asked hotly.
“Eliza and her band of idiots are heading there soon. I would think that you would want to do all in your power to get there first and help them.”
“I promised John. Philly is on the way, she’s there or she isn’t.”
“You know what the odds of her being alive are.”
“I do, that still doesn’t negate the promise I made to him.”
“Is your moral compass always stuck tight in the upright position?”
“Yeah, it’s a character flaw for sure.”
“Fine, we’ll do it your way.”
“Are we going as fast as this rig can go?” I asked Azile.
“As much as I want to push it.”
“That’ll have to do.” I held the offending Yankees hat out my window. I was hoping the wind would shred it, no such luck. Now I had to hope that, as I released it into the wild, that a pack of hyenas would stumble across it, tear it up and eat it and then crap it out over an active geyser, or volcano—either would work in this scenario. Then I pulled my hand with the cap back in. As much as I dreaded the hat, it still beat out the tin-foil, not by much mind you, but it was close. “Shit,” I muttered as I put the damn thing back on.
We had been driving a couple of hours. Azile and I had not spoken at all. The concern I felt for my family was placing a giant pit in my stomach. I was delaying getting to them on nothing more than the pipedream of a man who had long ago lost the majority of his reasoning abilities to a wide variety of recreational drug use. We were passing a fair number of abandoned cars, and more than once, I thought about telling Azile to let me off so that I could get one and go.
I kept turning around to the slumbering form of John. He may have tried to kill me a couple of times, but he saved me a couple of times too. I owed it to him to keep the promise I had given. And I didn’t trust Azile to do it, there was something about the woman I could not put my finger on. She played a part in the drama for sure, but whether it was a cameo, supporting, or starring role was yet to be determined. I thought I had enough of a bead on her that if I left her to her own devices she would kick John out shortly after I left and would then be on her own merry little way to parts unknown.
I could hear John moving about behind us. He sat up and stretched. “When’d we put a bed in the Gremlin, Mike?” he asked, looking over at me. “And who’s the girl?” he stage-whispered.
“Her name is Azile and we’re in a tractor trailer now,” I told him. I was concerned it might freak him out a little, I needn’t have been. He scooted up so that he was sitting at the edge of the bed almost between me and Azile.
“This is much better than the car,” he said, never once asking how our driver came into the picture or how we came to be in the truck.
“We’re about an hour out of Philadelphia,” I told him. He didn’t say anything, but his hands wrapped tight around the lip of the bed. “It’ll be alright, Trip, we’ll find her.”
Azile chose that very moment to let loose with a heavy sigh as if the whole event was an exercise in futility.
I shot her a glance that she completely ignored.
“What are we hauling?” John asked, possibly as a way to avoid Azile’s negativity if he noticed at all.
“I honestly don’t know,” I said, looking over to Azile.
“Don’t look at me, I’ve been a prisoner for longer than I can remember.”
I thought that was a strange response but I didn’t ask for her to elaborate. Now I was really curious as to what we were hauling also.
The truck began to slow down and finally came to a halt.
“Go check,” Azile said to me.
I had my hand on the door and had just opened it, I could hear John coming up behind me, he was curious too.
“Relax, I won’t leave without you.” She said smiling.
“That really doesn’t make me feel any better. If you were the type of person to leave us stranded, you sure wouldn’t care about a little lie to make it happen,” I told her.
“You’re probably right,” she said as she looked at her side view mirror. “Why don’t you go check before someone decides to see who we are?”
“Wow, man, she’s a mean one. Where’d you find her?” John asked me as he stepped down.
“You do know you’re less than six feet from her,” I told him.
“Do you think she heard me?” John asked in all seriousness; in response, Azile bleated the horn.
“Probably not,” I told him.
“Good,” he said as we walked to the back of the rig.
I kept looking for something to hold onto if she did decide to leave. There wasn’t anything I would trust life or limb to. I stared long and hard at those rear doors. I was remembering what Eliza liked to put in her trucks.
“What’re we doing out here?” John asked.
That was about all the catalyst I needed to get moving. I placed my hand on the latch, John had moved closer. “Hey, Trip, why don’t you move back a little. If any of the funky people are in here, run back up to the cab.”
“What are you going to do?” he asked as he took a couple of steps backwards.
“I’ll be right behind you.” I was thinking we were safe, I didn’t hear anything moving back there…unless they were packed so tightly that they couldn’t move which meant they would start spilling out the moment I opened the door. But the bigger piece that had me pretty convinced we were safe was I didn’t smell anything either. If there were that many zombies this close, the stink would have had a physical presence.
“Ready?” I asked John.
“Hurry up back there, will you!” Azile shouted.
I pulled the latch upwards and pulled the door back.
“Holy shit!” I yelled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Eliza and Tomas
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Eliza asked.
Her man in charge of the convoy was a three hundred pound bruiser that went by the handle ‘Kong’. The last time he had been as scared as he was now, he had been seven and had accidentally lit his garage on fire. His mother had sent him to his room, telling him that he would have to deal with his father. Kong’s father was a coal miner and did not suffer stupidity from anyone.
Kong—known better as Buddy back in his early years—had cried for five hours straight waiting for his dad to come home, and with good reason. Mr. Reynolds had laid down a belt whipping that on occasion still made Kong wince. Right now, he thought he’d be lucky if the worst of what he had to deal with was an ass whipping as he looked into the pitiless eyes of Eliza.
He took a quick breath before he spoke. “She got some help. A man came and broke the driver’s jaw, took his clothes and his truck.”
“Did anyone get a good look at this man?” Tomas asked.
Kong liked Tomas more than Eliza, but it was by only a matter of degrees. Like how one prefers a pit viper over a black mamba. “No. Horatio, the driver, was relieving himself when he got jumped.”
“Bring him to me,” Eliza said, seemingly bored with the proceeding
s.
Kong had been attempting to shield Horatio. His ploy was only going to get him so far. “Eliza, my mistress, Horatio is a good driver and they’re hard to find right now.”
“I merely wish to ask him a question or two,” Eliza replied.
Eliza was not that good of an actress. Kong knew the lie for what it was. He motioned for the men that had been caring for Horatio to bring him forward.
Horatio shuffled forward; he had never met Eliza, but he knew enough about her to be concerned. His eyes had already blackened and his jaw had puffed to nearly double its size giving him a cartoonish appearance.
Horatio had planned to stay strong, but one look at his employer and he had dropped his head.
Eliza reached out and grabbed his shattered jaw in her hand. Kong made as if to move and help the driver, then thought better of it as Eliza turned a questioning gaze on him. He wisely placed his hands down by his sides. Horatio was screaming in pain, as much as a man with a broken jaw can.
Tears rippled down his face and coated Eliza’s hand, yet she did not yield her prize. “What did the man that did this to you look like?” she asked softly.
“Mmmfff...” Horatio sobbed.
“Mistress, he cannot speak.” He almost added ‘with your hand clamped over his face’ but decided to leave that part to the wayside.
“Perhaps you should get a pen and paper,” Tomas added.
Kong motioned for one of his men to get them. Eliza did not let go until the man returned some moments later. Horatio had to be held up as he nearly collapsed to his knees. His color took on the hue of old, yellowed parchment paper.
“Write quickly,” Tomas prodded as Horatio tried to gather himself up and move past the majority of the pain.
‘I’m sorry.’ Horatio scribbled quickly, a child cresting on Red Bull would have written with less jitter.
Kong watched as the cold in Eliza’s eyes turned to heat. “Description, Horatio. What did the man look like?” he asked his driver.
‘Medium build....strong...shorts, tight shirt. Skin was pinkish like he’d been burned. Patchy facial hair, missing an eyebrow.’ He wrote diligently. He pushed the pain a little further back. ‘Tin foil hat.’
Tomas laughed at the last part.
“Something funny, brother?” Eliza asked.
“Michael Talbot is alive and apparently well, sister.”
“HOW COULD HE KNOW?” she screamed. “He stops here and takes the most important truck…how could he know?”
“Do you still doubt divine intervention?” Tomas asked.
Kong had doubted his alliance with Eliza from the first day, and now, if the other side was the one God favored, he had chosen poorly.
“This changes nothing!” she raged.
“This changes everything,” Tomas replied.
“Mistress?” Kong asked.
“I want the trucks ready to leave within the next three days,” she said turning to walk off.
He would lose a good ten percent of his fleet due to maintenance issues if they left that soon, but he would not cross Eliza. “And what of Horatio?” No sooner had he asked the question than he wished that he could retract it. She would have forgotten if he had just left it alone. Tomas bowed his head for a fraction of a second.
Eliza spun back. “No truck, no need for a driver,” she said as she again gripped his jaw.
She clenched her hand tight until Horatio’s teeth started to pop from his mouth. The bones in his jaw liquefied as she ground them together. Horatio had long since passed out as she made sure nothing structurally was left on the bottom part of his mouth. When she let go, he fell to the ground heavily. Kong had to turn away; the sight of Horatio’s caved-in face was not something he would soon forget.
There was a widening circle around Eliza, Tomas, Kong, and the dying Horatio. Those that had been curious as to how it would all play out now wanted nothing to do with it.
“Do not fail me again,” Eliza said to Kong.
He nodded.
Eliza and Tomas were heading back towards their car.
“The tinfoil is ingenious, don’t you think?” Tomas asked, goading his sister.
“Why will he not die, Tomas? You know him better than I.”
“I have known for a long time, sister, the man’s importance in this battle. I cannot begin to understand God’s design.” For the first time, Tomas thought he saw doubt creep into Eliza.
“Do you know how it turns out?” she asked.
His heart ached. This was the closest to his ‘Lizzie’ he had seen in nearly five centuries, and still he thought she might be acting for his benefit.
“I am but a player in this game, Eliza.”
“I am not a player,” she said defiantly. “I make the rules.”
“Then someone is changing the game.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Tomas was not happy with the set of Eliza’s jaw. She had something in mind, and it did not sit well with him. “Where are we going?” he asked as he started the car.
“Drive, I’ll let you know when we have arrived.”
***
“Eliza, it has been hours. Perhaps if you told me where we were going?” Tomas asked.
“I go to seek counsel. If Jehovah has broken covenant, then I will offer his counterpart the same transgression.”
Tomas brought the car to a screeching halt. “What you do now is beyond reprehension, Eliza. But even you cannot think involving the Dark One would benefit anyone…least of all the person making the bargain.”
“I merely wish to talk with the Fork-tongued One. No agreement will be struck.”
“Eliza, no!” Tomas begged.
“Just drive, the sooner we get to New Orleans, the sooner I can go and kill Michael Talbot AGAIN!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Mike Journal Entry 10
“Rune stones, man!” John said as he jumped on the back.
“What?” I asked. I hadn’t even seen the stones, and considering they were the size of a man, that was not easy to do. My eyes were transfixed on the green military boxes. I ran back to the cab of the truck and grabbed the crowbar I had seen resting under the seat. I can guarantee anyone that is reading this journal that they would have been hard pressed to find any kid in any country during any Christmas throughout the ages that was more excited to open a box than I was that day.
“M-240s and M-16s,” I mumbled, possibly drooling on myself as I placed the crowbar in a slight opening.
It was too much to hope that the markings on the box matched the contents. John was a few feet away rubbing the rocks, he was muttering something. Azile was alternating between watching our backs and checking out the contents.
“Holy fucking shit,” I said as the top popped free.
“What is that?” John asked, taking a second to look over.
“John, what I’m holding here is an M-240 machinegun. It’ll shoot in the neighborhood of a hundred to two hundred rounds a minute without blinking and six-fifty a minute if I really want to put the pedal to the metal!” I answered as I hefted the twenty-five pound block of death metal out of the container.
“That’s good then?” John asked.
“What?” I asked him incredulously. “Okay, let’s put this in terms you’ll understand. I feel about finding this like you would if this crate was full of prime California bud.”
“There’s weed in there?” John asked, pushing me to the side. He was mighty disappointed when he realized that wasn’t the case. “Why would you lie to me, man?” he asked with pleading eyes, like maybe I had stashed the find before telling him.
“I was just comparing how I feel about finding this to how you would feel finding some weed.”
“Not cool, man.” He returned to the Rune stones, I suppose for solace.
“Bullets?” Azile asked.
“Shit,” I said. I had been so enamored with the machinegun that I completely forgot about the rounds. Without them, this just became a ver
y heavy club.
“There’s a box next to him that says 5.56,” Azile said, pointing to the left of John.
“No good, this takes 7.62. That’ll work for the M-16s, though,” I said, looking deeper into the truck. “This must be their rolling armory…and now it’s ours. Well if this doesn’t help to change the tide, I don’t know what will.” Nobody was listening, but I was still talking. This was too big a find to keep bottled up inside. We now had a machinegun and about two dozen M-16s.
“Just use more of them,” John replied in all seriousness.
“That’d kind of be like me telling you to just smoke more of the marijuana plant stalk,” I told him.
“The plant stalk doesn’t have any THC. You could smoke it all day long and not get high,” he said. “I’ve tried.”
“Same thing…sort of…with the bullets,” I said as I pulled a tarp to the side. There were three more stones making a total of five and two beautiful crates marked ‘disintegrating metallic split-linked belt (M13 links), 7.62 in a ratio of 3 rounds to 1 tracer.’ “I think I’m going to need some time alone,” I told John and Azile as I gently stroked the box. Azile laughed, which was nice, it was the first time I’d seen any emotion out of her, that didn’t somehow revolve around anger. John started to walk out of the truck. “I was kidding, man,” I told him.
“Wait! Are you sure those are rune stones?” I asked John.
“We should get going,” Azile motioned.
“Sure, you can tell by the markings,” he said as he ran his hand across the raised etchings.
Azile was getting down from the truck. “Hold on,” I told her. She momentarily eyed the doors, maybe figuring if she could close and lock them before I could run to the end. She either figured she couldn’t get it done, or that it wasn’t such a good idea in the first place. “What part do you play in this?” I asked her point blank.
“I was a prisoner,” she told me flatly.
“I gathered that much on my own,” I told her. At first I just figured she was a plaything for a demented, perverted truck driver, but she didn’t have the feel of ‘victim’ on her. “There’s more here,” I stated as I began to wonder. Her name which was unique began to stick in my head. “How do you spell your name?”
