by Mark Tufo
He had made it all the way to Colorado when he received word from his company that InTech had gone belly up and he was to bring the shipment of electronic components back to the distributor in Massachusetts. His pay would be cut, but it would save him two days away from his home and for that he was grateful.
The car in his driveway was not familiar and he parked his Chevy pick-up truck behind the late model BMW. He moved quickly to the front door, fumbling with his keys as he began to live the nightmare of so many other long distance haulers. He could hear his wife’s first words, ‘I have needs!’ she would yell.
Fear adrenaline blasted through his veins making the delicate action of slipping a key into a lock exceedingly difficult. He heard her cries of passion as he opened the door. He looked to the kitchen and the butcher block knife holder. “Fuck that, I’ll crush his throat with my hands,” he said as he tore down the hallway.
The bedroom door was open. Why would it be closed? They had no children and he wasn’t expected home for another forty-eight hours. It took him many heartbeats to reconcile the sight he saw in his bedroom with what he thought he was going to see. His wife was sitting up in her bed, tears were streaking down her face as an older gentleman sat on the bed next to her, he was holding her hands. A small satchel sat on her nightstand.
“What,” he said loudly, “is going on, Madeline?” His words getting quieter with each progressive syllable.
The older gentleman turned.
Madeline struggled to look through her natural waterfall. “Kong,” she sniffed. “What are you doing home?” Her words sounding guilty, but her actions belied that.
“What is going on?” Kong asked even quieter than before. His mind noticing the twin snakes wrapped around the pole emblazoned on the satchel. At that moment he hoped—no, he prayed—they were playing doctor.
“My name is Dr. Corren,” the elderly man said, standing up. He walked over to Kong extending his hand.
Kong knew that most men that had just fucked another’s wife didn’t generally shake the hand of the jilted. Kong reluctantly accepted the man’s gesture. “Hi,” Kong said, staring at the man’s hand as if it contained the answers he sought.
“I’m a friend of Maddie’s dad. I’ve been their family physician since she was in diapers,” he said, smiling back at Madeline. “Maddie’s mom, Gwen, asked me to stop by.”
“Stop by? Maddie’s from West Roxbury. You practice in this neighborhood now?”
“Not quite.”
“Doc, you made a hundred mile house call?” Kong asked.
“For Maddie there would be no limits,” the doctor answered.
Madeline was still crying.
“Maddie?” Kong asked, looking past the smaller man.
“I’m going to let you two be alone. Maddie, you call me if you need anything. Do you understand?” He waited until she answered. He walked over and kissed her forehead. The tenderness of the gesture made Kong realize that the doctor knew he would never have the opportunity to do that again.
Kong walked the doctor out, for a quick moment he thought about following him; irrationally thinking that if he waited the two days until when he was supposed to come home, that this waking nightmare would be over by then.
“Maddie?” Kong asked as he walked back into the room.
She broke out into fresh sobs as he approached.
“How bad is it?” he asked, sitting where the doc had been, a ghost of his body heat still present. For a moment, Kong resented the man’s presence in his bedroom.
“I have stage-three pancreatic cancer.”
Kong’s world spun sideways, he had heard about people having vertigo, but never experienced it himself until just that moment. Had he not been sitting on the edge of the bed, he knew that he would have toppled over. As it was he had to place both hands on the mattress to keep from tipping over onto his wife.
She started to talk rapidly as she was apt to do when she was nervous; something he usually found endearing, but he kept hearing words, like cancer, and chemotherapy, life-expectancy, treatment options. It was too much for him. He could not even begin to process what she was saying.
She had barely finished her first round of chemotherapy when she died. Small sparse flakes of snow lazily drifted to the ground as he laid his beloved to rest. The day he had found out about her disease and the culminating final few weeks had been the darkest period of his life. It had taken him years to once again find any joy, slim as it may be, in the world. And he decided that he would go back to that very moment she told him what she had rather than stand in front of the Shade Queen for one more moment.
“Kong, I suggest that when you stand before me that you do not let your mind drift elsewhere,” Eliza said.
“Just remembering a happier time,” he said sarcastically. “Is this one man worth it? Even now?”
“Especially now,” she replied.
“Surely you have enough zombies here to take out one household.”
“One would think,” Eliza answered him.
“There’s another problem.”
“Do tell.”
“They found a way to stop the zombies. They reach a point in the yard and will not go any further.”
“Impossible!” she shouted. “Tomas, is this possible, does he possess the power to do such a thing?” she asked her brother.
“I do not know why you would doubt what he can and cannot do Eliza. I have begged you to stop the insanity of this quest.”
“Kong you need to get me close to the house so that I can find out for myself,” Eliza told the big man as she started to stride towards Ron’s as if she were going on a power walk during a short lunch break.
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he said catching up to her. He saw that he was not going to be able to dissuade her. “You two.” Kong pointed to two men that were shuttling ammo and had the unfortunate stroke of luck to be crossing their path at that very moment, “you’re both with me, put the cans down and let’s go.” He pushed both of the men in front of him, Eliza, and Tomas.
The zombies moved out of the way of the team as if they were repelled. Eliza was psychically pushing them away with her mind. The path she cut ahead of them closed neatly as they passed by, they were but a schooner in a sea of death.
CHAPTER FORTY
Mike Journal Entry 17
It took about an hour to make the basement somewhat presentable, although it would take a strong imagination to NOT see what had happened there.
“Need any help?” Gary asked, opening the basement door, I was three steps from the top.
“I think we’re good,” I told him.
BT was coming up the stairs slowly, his previous injury making his leg stiff from the awkward position he had been in while helping me clean.
“Sucks getting old,” I told him from the top of the stairs.
“I hope I have the opportunity to find out, at least I have you to live vicariously through.” He grabbed the handrail to help pull himself up.
“Great, I was going to help you the rest of the way up,” I told him as I walked away, letting the basement door shut in his face.
“Anything?” I asked Travis going to the back of the house and talking through the window.
He was behind the protective metal barrier. He shook his head so that he wouldn’t give his position away.
I walked across the house. “Anything, Dad?”
“Nothing. I’d be surprised if they tried that again.”
“Probably right,” I told him.
Mad Jack’s box was still keeping the zombies at bay and I had to think Eliza was rethinking her strategy. We could possibly have a small lull.
The household was somewhat subdued. We were in the midst of a siege, and when nothing was happening, generally boredom became the biggest problem. Fear was too strong of an emotion to sustain for long periods of time. Everybody more or less was doing what I expected them to be doing: either busy work or lying about. I tracked ba
ck across the room. There was one notable exception to my previous statement. Justin looked like he was alternating between seeking comfort and finding some deep dark place to hide.
“Justin?” I asked, approaching him. He immediately shied away. I felt her the moment I pulled my hat off and placed it on his head. A genuine look of confusion, then elation spread across his features.
“This really works?” he asked incredulously.
I would have answered him but I ran out to the deck. Eliza might as well have had a stage light on her the way she stuck out from the crowd of zombies. She looked up immediately as she saw me. I had left my rifle in the living room; the only weapon I had was a 9 mm, and at fifty yards I’d have a better chance of throwing rocks at her. I did the next best thing—I flipped her the finger. I could hear and see Tomas laughing from here.
It was all fun and games until the two men leading the crusade started to open fire, then it got serious real quick.
At first I was outgunned two to none, within thirty seconds, I had Travis, Justin and my dad. I had run back in to snag my rifle. We got a few shots off, but Eliza and company had not advanced any further and the zombies had closed in around them like a protective barrier. I may have winged one of the men she was with…or he could have been dusting a fly off of himself. I ran to the kitchen and hastily fashioned my own hat, it wasn’t done with the same level of expertise as Trip’s but it did the job.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Eliza
“That’s him.” Kong told Eliza as Michael came out onto the deck.
She nodded imperceptibly, her lips tightening at the sight of her adversary.
“Didn’t seem like much when he said his name was Buker and doesn’t seem like much now,” he said a moment before Mike flipped Eliza off. Kong was both amused at the gesture and awed that someone had enough balls to do something like that to her.
Tomas burst out laughing, Kong had wanted to join him, but he didn’t have a familiar relationship to fall back on like the boy did. He was certain she would cut his throat and let him bleed out where they were.
“Kill him,” Eliza told her escort.
They hastily left the area as their firepower gave way to that of the defenders.
“Should we try a different approach?” Kong asked Eliza once they were in a safer area.
“No, I have found out what I need to know,” she replied. “It is not Michael that keeps my zombies at bay.”
“The trench then?” Kong asked, seeking clarification.
Eliza walked away looking more pissed then usual which Kong found hard to believe. He turned to Tomas.
“They are broadcasting a signal that interferes with the physiology of the zombies.”
“Like the vials?” he asked.
“No, better,” Tomas said with a hint of a smile.
“That’s fucking brilliant,” Kong said, turning back to the house he could no longer see due to the density of the woods. He wondered what other surprises they had in store. “You obviously care for your sister, I can see that, but you cannot hide the fact that you also care for the well-being of the Talbots. What’s your story?” Kong asked.
“I do not think that either of us has enough life left in us for me to recount that,” Tomas said sadly and walked to catch up with his sister.
Kong had two vampires, if he was to believe what Eliza told him—and he had no reason not to—around seventy men, and close to fifteen thousand zombies on his side against one house full of mostly women and children, and he thought that he had chosen poorly. “Well it’s a shitty bed, but I made it. Might as well lie in it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Mike Journal Entry 18
“She’s getting bold,” BT said as I came back in the door.
“Our little girl is growing up,” I told him, wiping a mock tear away from my eye.
“Should have put her over my knee a few more times,” he said, following me into the room. “What’s she doing?”
“I’m thinking trying to figure out why her zombies aren’t eating us yet,” I told him.
“I didn’t know she cared.”
“Don’t worry, she doesn’t.”
“Any ideas?”
“Really?” Tracy asked BT. “You really want an unsolicited idea from Mike?”
“At least it’s entertaining,” BT told her.
I wanted to join in the reverie, but I could feel time slipping through our fingers. “She has us pretty buttoned up here with the zombies and the guards, but she’s not going to wait us out. Eliza isn’t much on patience.”
“What are you thinking?” my dad asked.
“She has every tactical advantage right now. She’s going to try and find a tank or rocket launchers or a damn Harrier Jet. We’ve got to stop her before that happens.”
“You’re kidding, right?” BT asked. “I merely asked you for an idea…not an overabundance of ways to get killed.”
“BT, you should know better, man. All of my ideas are laced with an overabundance of ways to die.”
“I know,” he said, sitting down heavily. “When do we go?”
“Are you serious? Are you that devoid of short-term memory that you cannot remember what happened the last time you went on the offensive against Eliza?” Tracy was shrieking.
If I thought Eliza was mad at me when I had given her the finger, I had yet to see Tracy’s ire when I told her of my next great adventure. She definitely raised the anger bar. I think I was going to get my slogan trademarked: Michael Talbot, bringing hate and discontent to women everywhere for forty-plus years.
“I could crank up the outage on the frequency modulator,” Mad Jack piped up.
“Okay.” I answered, trying to figure out where he was going with it. Lord knew I’d had enough practice with John the Tripper I should have been able to figure him out, although that wasn’t a fair comparison. MJ was logic based, John was acid based.
“Well that would mean more power was going out,” he added.
“I get that, but to what end?” I asked.
“Mad Jack, you said that putting out too much power could fry the components,” Ron said with concern.
“I did say that,” Mad Jack pronounced.
“How could someone that snorted, inhaled or smoked enough drugs to finance a cartel sound as similar to someone that graduated the top of his class at MIT?” I demanded, throwing my hands in the air. “Ron? Help me out here, man. I don’t speak genius.”
“Relax, Mike, he usually has so much going on in his head, he doesn’t know what he’s told us or what he’s thinking. He’ll get there in a minute.”
The cursory minute passed. We were all waiting for some more information that was not coming. Mad Jack was pacing the room, and it looked like he was about to leave before Ron stopped him.
“MJ?”
“I need some more transistors,” Mad Jack told him as if that explained everything.
“Okay, we all get that you want to put more power through the modulator. The Jeopardy bonus round question is why?” Ron wanted to know.
“Jeopardy is for the uneducated,” Mad Jack stated contemptuously. “The questions are so easy.”
I had stopped watching Jeopardy years ago when I realized that I hardly ever knew the answers to even the easiest hundred dollar questions. Who needs to be reminded daily of their ignorance?
Ron tried Psych 101 on MJ. “The reason for increasing power to the frequency modulator that disrupts the thought patterns of the zombies is?”
“Nice…he phrased it as a question,” Gary said, smacking my arm to make sure that I was watching the riveting action.
“To drive the zombies back, thus obscuring our vial-laden exit from the armed guards,” Mad Jack retorted.
Now all of a sudden it was a riveting conversation. “That’s brilliant,” I said aloud.
“I know,” Mad Jack said.
“But you’re not thinking escape, are you, Mike?” Tracy asked.
“Where
would we run to that she wouldn’t find us? Where could we run that was more secure? Where could we run that was as well supplied? Where—”
“I get it,” she lashed out.
“Plus I have someone waiting in a truck out there that I need to bring into the fold.”
“What? Who?” came the myriad of questions.
I quickly explained where I had discovered Azile and how I had rescued her. I somehow failed to tell them that she had driven the majority of the way back because she was better at it than me, it must have slipped my mind.
“You just left her out there?” Tracy accused me.
“You know, I wasn’t all that sure I was going to make it back here. I figured she was safer in the truck,” I said, defending myself.
“You need to go get her,” Tracy said.
“I know that, dear. But it’s not like I can just walk out the door and do that now, is it?”
“Don’t you get condescending with me.”
“Ooh look, the finger should be coming out any second,” BT said to Gary.
“I don’t know why you’re so smug,” Tracy said, turning her wrath to the big man. “You’re going out there to help him.”
“Me?” BT begged off. “I always have to pull his scrawny ass out of a scrape.”
“And that’s exactly why you and I are going with him.”
“Oh no,” BT and I said simultaneously.
“I’m used to saving his ass, I can’t be looking out for you, too,” BT shouted.
“BT, I’d been saving his ass for close to twenty-five years before you ever came in the picture. I think if anyone is qualified to do it, it’s me.”
“I hate when you two do this,” I told them.
“You keep out of this,” BT told me.
Tracy and BT were still arguing about who was better at keeping me alive when I turned my attention back to Mad Jack who had lost all interest with the ravings of the monkeys below the one-forty intelligence quotient level.
