by Mark Tufo
Eliza rolled her window back up. Kong hurriedly put his truck in gear, wishing to get as far away from what he expected to happen as soon as possible. He had made sure to double check with the men, strongly urging them to rethink their stance, they hadn’t yielded. He saw Eliza’s car rolling towards the men in his rearview mirror before he turned and lost sight.
***
Eliza stepped out, her black leather high heeled boot cracking into the gravel of the parking lot. “I will require my vials back,” Eliza stated as she approached the men.
Detrick, one of the first drivers to come on with Kong spoke up. “See. Mistress,” he said, taking his Mack Trucks hat off and wringing it in his hands, “we sort of felt like maybe we had earned them with all the hard work we’ve done for you.”
“Is Michael Talbot and his family dead?” Eliza asked arching an eyebrow.
“Well, and that’s another thing, this Talbot family and his kin…they haven’t done anything to us. Isn’t that right?” he asked the other four men who looked like they would all rather be receiving hot lava enemas at the moment than being under the scrutiny of Eliza’s gaze.
“Is it not enough that they have wronged me?” she asked almost sweetly.
“We don’t have to take this shit from an itty bitty little girl,” one of the newer drivers, Lonnie, stated. “My rig is a fucking paperweight now just because I didn’t have a full tank of gas. I’ve given all I’m going to give, and if this stupid vial does half of what all you scared fucks says it does, I will consider it payment for my fuel. Now you’re all bowing to this?” he asked pointing to Eliza.
Tommy was shaking his head back and forth as he watched the exchange. Eliza was wearing a bemused smile.
“Mistress, he’s new. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about and doesn’t speak for all of us,” Detrick replied.
“Fuck you, man,” Lonnie said. “We were just having this conversation before she came over, and if I remember correctly, you said something about how you’d like to bend her over your fender.” Detrick looked like he’d swallowed a living fish, his body was quivering. “In fact, I’m not so sure this vial is adequate payment.” Lonnie approached Eliza and broke into her personal space. He was looking down at her threateningly. “Look, even her pussy brother’s not coming to her aid.” He pointed to the Chevy.
“Don’t, Lonnie,” Detrick said, at first stepping closer, but then stepping back when Eliza looked over to him.
“Why? She’s so fine, maybe Lonnie junior can put a smile on that frozen face,” Lonnie said with a leer.
“Would men be able to think at all if they didn’t have their manhood?” Eliza asked Detrick. “You pull that scrawny little worm out that you call ‘Lonnie Jr.’ and I will tear it from your body.”
Lonnie faltered for a moment. “Come on, guys, we can all have her,” he said, all of a sudden feeling like he needed back up.
“Mistress, we just want to go on our way, your fight is not ours,” Detrick said, handing her his vial back.
The three other men who had been hanging back followed suit with Detrick.
“Fine, you bunch of women!” Lonnie yelled at the group. “It’s your lucky day,” he said, pointing to Eliza, “but I’m keeping the damned vial.” He turned and began to walk away.
“I get the vial back, Detrick, or none of you leave this parking lot alive,” Eliza told him coolly.
Detrick had seen enough of her work to know that this was no idle threat. “Stop him,” he told the other three.
It was a minor scuffle, but within a minute, Lonnie’s vial was sitting in the palm of Eliza’s hand.
“We’re free to go now?” Detrick asked.
Eliza didn’t answer as she headed back to the car.
“You’re truly letting them go?” Tomas asked incredulously. His question was answered before the reverberations in the air flow stopped. A group of a dozen or so speeders came through a row of hedges some fifty yards away from the departing men.
It was Detrick who noticed them first. He alerted the rest of the group and then looked back to Eliza’s car before he started running in the opposite direction.
“Let’s go,” Eliza told Tomas.
“You could have let them live,” Tomas said to her as he watched three zombies drag down Lonnie.
The rest of the zombies stopped until they were gently urged to keep chasing down their victims by Eliza.
“You do know at some point you will need humans to repopulate so that you can feed, right?” Tomas asked Eliza.
“Yes, but this is so much more fun than merely letting them go,” Eliza replied.
Tomas sped up to catch the convoy as they were heading down the highway.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mike Journal Entry 12
We traveled for a few miles. I didn’t say too much, only grunting when we came across a small river. I had Azile stop so that I could clean up. I got behind the truck and stripped down, hoping that I could find something to replace my crusted clothes. It wasn’t going to happen. I hopped in, the river was about as warm as I was expecting it to be, which meant I was taking in small sharp breathes as the ice cold daggers of water rolled over my body. I had the clothes I was using secured under a rock a few feet down stream from me.
“I’m washing up in a river in New Jersey,” I said as got down as low as I could. The water was only about two feet deep, so I was nearly in the prone position. Chunks of debris were flowing off of me, I chose to ignore them. I spent at least twenty minutes cleaning myself and another ten getting my clothes into somewhat respectable condition. Well this wasn’t a Tide commercial, and my whites were never going to be clean again. I was not thrilled with the idea of putting them back on wet and probably would have waited until they were dry if I was still with John, but I didn’t think it was fair to expose Azile to that kind of trauma. I laughed at my thought.
“You know I’m not a prude,” Azile told me when I squished onto my seat.
“Well I didn’t, but I am,” I told her back.
“You’re going to catch your death of cold like that.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice if that was how I had to worry about dying?” I asked her, looking wistfully out the window.
“I guess it would be,” she said as she got the truck moving.
***
“Oh what now!” Azile said as she slammed her fist off the dashboard; the truck was losing power. “Whatever was wrong last night, I think is showing up again.”
“Can’t you fix it?” I asked her, my mood had not rebounded quite yet.
“Do I look like a master mechanic?” she asked.
I looked over at her. “I thought all truckers were. Isn’t that part of the job?”
“Have you used a stove?”
“What kind of question is that? And yes, to answer it, I have.”
“Does that make you a master chef? How about that writing in your journal?”
“I get it, I get it. And yes, I’ve written a lot in my journal…and ‘no’ that doesn’t make me a literary genius.”
We were finally back in Massachusetts; we had made decent time down the Mass Pike and had just got onto 495 which skirted around Boston. My fear had been getting back on route 95 and potentially running into Eliza on the open road. That hadn’t worked out so well the first time and I was in no mood to revisit it, although right now that didn’t look like it was going to be a problem.
“Any ideas?” Azile asked as she manhandled the now dead truck to the side of the road.
“We could wait for a good Samaritan,” I told her.
She looked over, trying to ascertain if I was serious, then she smiled. “What about Triple-A?”
“That’s the spirit, let’s get armed up.”
“I hate what this world’s become,” she said as she pushed rounds into her magazines. “I’m more than likely going to need these today,” she said, rattling her rounds, “than this.” She pulled a pen out of her pocket.
&
nbsp; “That’s a nice pen.”
“You want it?”
“Sure.”
“At least someone will use it.” She handed it over.
I spent a few more moments taking a look at it before I stuck it in the middle of my rolled up journal, once again wrapping my thoughts and words in a plastic bag and securing it with a rubber band. My present life necessitated this action, I’d lost more than one journal to blood and gore.
“Shit.” Azile shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up and down the roadway.
“Keep a look out, I’m going to ditch this stuff.” Odds were, a family in desperate need of rifles and food was not going to stumble across this truck. The sure bet was a renegade band of some sort of desperados, and with God’s innate sense of humor I could almost guarantee that these would be used against me.
“Just light the damn truck on fire,” Azile said as I was about halfway through emptying the rig.
That did seem way easier, and the groove I was wearing in the ground as I hauled the stuff to the tree line was getting pretty noticeable anyway. “This royally sucks,” I told Azile as I strategically placed the ammunition, my beautiful M-240 and a crate of M-16’s in the back of the truck.
“You say something?” Azile asked peeking her head from around a tree.
I motioned her with a frantic hand waving to hide. I pulled the pin on the grenade I was holding, tossed it into the rear of the truck, and ran. I had just made it to the large tree Azile was hiding behind when the grenade blew; it was a millisecond later when the concussion from the explosion of the grenade and ammunition struck.
Heat from the fire was causing rounds to cook off and randomly fire in all directions.
“Didn’t really think this out, did you?” Azile asked.
“I rarely do.”
It was a lot like waiting for microwave popcorn to finish. There were hundreds of ‘pops’ from the majority of the rounds, then they began to decrease until it was down to the occasional release. This batch, though, we didn’t care if it burned completely. We waited a full ten minutes after the final explosion before we ventured forth. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I noticed bark missing on the tree we had been using for cover, but it still came as a shock to see so much damage to our ‘protector.’
“Thank you,” I told it as I placed my hand against its trunk. I’m glad it wasn’t an Ent; it would have kicked our ass. (Lord of the Rings reference).
I cautiously walked back to the smoking destroyed ruins of Horatio’s truck dismayed to see my M-240 twisted and destroyed.
“You need a minute?” Azile asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll be alright,” I sniffed.
“Now?”
“Now we walk at least for a little while. That blast is going to attract some attention.” I had no idea how prophetic my words were going to be, and from what quarter we were going to receive help. Some shit just can’t be made up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Start of the End - Maine
It was twilight and Travis was walking on the raised deck for his shift of guard duty. Nobody had seen much more than a wayward raccoon in days. His eyes were scanning the horizon but not focusing on anything other than how the early evening air had a bite to it. He felt it long before he saw it; the pressure treated boards under his feet were vibrating, at first so subtly he thought he might be having a muscle spasm. That changed when he watched the small deck table start to move from the thrum. The movement was quickly transferred into the house.
Ron ran up to the railing. “I guess it’s time,” he said, heading in as quickly as he had come out.
Travis was still trying to process the information when the majority of the Talbot compound residents came outside.
“Ron, we can’t…the entire system isn’t ready,” Mad Jack was pleading.
“No real choice,” Ron said.
“What is it?” Perla asked, her eyes wide.
“Has anyone seen Erin?” Tracy asked. “I checked the entire house and the garden, she wouldn’t have left the grounds would she?”
Tony was coming from the rear of the house. He looked up at everyone on the deck. “Back gate was open.”
The words were foreboding to Tracy. She had known how distraught Erin had been over Paul’s passing but she didn’t think she would do anything quite that foolish as to leave the security of the compound.
“We have to go look for her,” she begged. No one heard her with a half a dozen conversations going on. “Ron,” she grabbed his forearm, “I think Erin has left, we need to find her.”
“She’s as thick as her husband. Not to fret it’s Darwinism at work,” Deneaux said.
“Ron, I’ve got to find her,” Tracy said with alarm.
“Absolutely not. We have no idea what’s coming, but it’s not good. Erin put herself at risk I will not put others out there also. Besides once we arm our defenses getting back will be near impossible.”
Tracy ran over the deck to the backyard to see if Erin was still in shouting distance.
“Grab the ammo,” Tony said to Travis. “Station it every ten feet along the deck.”
“Ammo is a last resort, dad,” Ron stressed.
“Hurry up then,” Tony told Travis with a smile. The defenses they had built looked formidable, but every fortress was pregnable.
Travis turned and headed back in. He noticed Justin in the shadows of the darkened living room. His lips were moving but no words were emanating forth. “Justin?” Travis asked nervously.
“She’s fucking back, brother.” Justin shivered. Travis walked over cautiously to his brother. “Relax, I can see the concern on your face. I haven’t gone to the dark side yet.”
“No?” Travis asked. “How long have you known they were coming?” he asked before going to fulfill his grandfather’s orders.
Justin was caught off guard. Long enough, he thought.
Tracy was frantically calling out Erin’s name. The only thing answering back was the chirp of crickets that were beginning to still with the approach of multiple diesel engines.
***
Erin heard the ragged screams calling her name, but the peace the woods offered her pulled too deeply. That and the half bottle of valiums she had taken were all she wanted in life as she laid her head back down on the exposed tree root. Her breaths were shallow and her thoughts fogged over. “Paul?” she mumbled in question. “I’ve missed you so much.” She sobbed with relief.
Not this way, Erin, her husband said with a sad smile. It was too late; Erin’s heart slowed further and then stopped. Her eyes shot open, frozen in surprise at her final resting spot.
***
“How much time do we have?” Gary asked, looking out the small road that led to the house.
“Well, they’re on the access road for sure,” Ron replied.
“So within three miles,” Gary said aloud.
“Too close, brother. I know what you’re thinking.”
Gary was done thinking; he was heading for the front gate. Ron had dug out a pit in the middle of the access road; it was seven feet deep, twelve feet across, and the width of the road across about ten feet. They had built a makeshift bridge over the gap so that they could get in and out when needed. The aluminum structure was held in place with heavy metal rods which, if removed, would cause the bridge to collapse once anything of substantial weight bore down on it. The idea being that the defenses around the house were stout but would have great difficulty holding up to a tank or in this case tractor trailers ramming at full steam.
“Dad!” Ron said louder than he needed to.
“I’m covering…nothing yet,” he said, looking through his scope.
Travis was back with his second ammo run. He had just stood up and was turning to run back in. “Zombies!” he yelled, pointing into the woods about forty yards away. They had been heading towards the house, but changed direction when they spotted movement; Gary.
“
There’s dozens of them,” Lyndsey said.
“Sis, get the kids down into the fallout shelter,” Ron said, not taking his eyes off Gary. There were dozens in sight, but more kept coming. “Gary, it isn’t worth it!” Ron shouted wrapping his hands around his mouth to project his voice. But that was a lie, it was worth it. One truck could smash through just about everything they had accomplished.
Gary was humming as he was running, then he started to sing softly, “Risin’ up, back on the street. Did my time, took my chances. Went the distance, now I’m back on my feet. Just a man and his will to survive…” Gary reached the bridge just as he completed the first stanza. He saw the zombies but still figured he had enough time to pull the pin. His shoulders, arms, neck, and legs, strained as he pulled on the two foot around pin. Inch by blessed inch it scraped free.
“Gary, get out of there,” Ron shouted.
Tony started shooting. Gary could hear zombies thudding to the ground.
“Still time,” he said as the bodies hitting the ground still sounded far enough away.
Added to Tony’s precision shots was Travis’ cover fire. “Uncle Gary, you should really get your ass moving!” Travis shouted.
“No swearing,” Tracy admonished him.
“This is as good a time as any,” he answered his mother in between blasts.
She was too lost in twisting worry to give Travis any flack over his response as she watched zombies streaming through the woods like ghostly bearers of death.
Gary had both legs dug into the ground and was pulling with all his might, the pin yielding but on its own schedule, not caring in the least that Gary’s timetable was running late. The majority of it was out, but now the bullets were of close enough proximity that he could hear them whining by like relentless deer flies. He pushed up and down until the heavy ‘pin’ dropped to the ground. He lifted it over his head and again broke out into song. “It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight…” Gary tossed it to the side and started running.
