Crusade (Eden Book 2)

by Tony Monchinski

  “Okay.”

  He took his hand off Buddy’s chest and sat down, his back against one of the chairs in which a corpse was positioned. Bear took the flashlight from him but did not turn it off, aiming it instead at his own face.

  “It’s only me, got it?”

  Buddy sweat profusely but was immensely relieved. Bear’s face, he thought, flush with the garish light, one eye unseeing, big head bald, was the most beautiful and most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

  “Got it, got it.” He rolled over onto his side then sat up, across from Bear, who directed the flashlight beam at the space between them.

  “Buddy,” he asked after some time. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He didn’t know what to say or where to begin.

  “Bear, what happened to Harris? Exactly I mean.”

  Bear nodded but he could not see him.

  “Harris got bit. None of us knew.”

  “You didn’t know? Julie didn’t know?” His voice wasn’t accusing, it was asking.

  “None of us knew. That afternoon we’re outside watching a volleyball game or whatever, and after awhile I kind of notice Harris isn’t around, and then we heard a gunshot.

  “I was the first one down in the basement, after Julie—what she had to see, what she saw—Harris had it in his head that Thompson was responsible, I guess. He had Thompson staked to one of those poles Markowski had down in his basement. He’d chained himself to the other. Shot himself through the chest, bled out quick, came back.”

  “How did Bobby die?”

  “I don’t think Harris meant to kill Bobby,” Bear reflected. “I think that was a mistake. I wonder if he even knew…”

  “Who killed Harris? Was it you?”

  “I didn’t kill Harris. I killed a zombie down in that basement. Two of them. Harris killed Harris.”

  “I’m in a bad way.”

  Bear waited silently for him to explain.

  “When I was Inside—when I was in prison—they kept me correct. I mean with the meds situation and all. But out here…I’m losing it, man.”

  Bear had had his eye on Buddy for some time. When Buddy came back to Eden to find his best friend dead, and his best friend’s woman pregnant, many who knew Buddy had been relieved, thinking him dead and gone all those months. But Bear had detected something was up pretty early on. He’d worked in the health care field way back when, enough to recognize the signs of mental illness, even if he didn’t possess the medical terminology to label what he saw.

  “I hear voices,” continued Buddy. “I hear Harris. I hear…I hear voices. They tell me to, to do things. They aren’t really there, are they?”

  “No. They aren’t really there.”

  “Part of me knows that, but part of me… They’re so real. I can’t…I can’t explain it. I—”

  “Let me ask you a question. What happened with you and Markowski, down in that tunnel?”

  Buddy shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, I thought—I think—we fought. He fought hard. I killed him. I think. But, I don’t know. I keep seeing myself sawing his head off in the dark, not even giving him a…a chance. I don’t know which is the real version anymore.”

  “Markowski one of the voices you hear?”

  Buddy nodded.

  “Can you hold it together? I mean, the other night, with Mickey…”

  “I can’t believe I…I mean, yeah I can. I can believe I did that. I’ve done things, Bear…things…”

  “We both have.”

  “No, I don’t think you—”

  “I do.”

  “I would never hurt Julie, or the baby, I mean, they’re my…they’re the only reason—”

  “I know you would never purposefully harm Julie. But you need to know, if you ever try and harm that woman or child, I’ll end you.”

  It wasn’t a threat and Buddy didn’t take it as one.

  “You know, one time, me and Harris, we got to talkin’. I told him, I said if I ever got bit, I didn’t want him to hesitate. I wanted him to do it then and there. He didn’t want to hear any of that, but it was important for me that he did hear it, and finally he agreed. I think he agreed to shut me up, but…

  “If I slow you down,” he continued, “and the days gonna come I think, real fast, when I do slow you down, just leave me. Keep heading north, cross the bridge I told you about, keep goin’. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Understood.” Bear’s voice was low.

  The dead sat in their chairs and the living sat on the floor.

  “Does it help?” asked Buddy.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your religion? You’re one of those born-again types, aren’t you? I mean, you’re pretty low-key about it and all, but…”

  “I was.”

  “Not anymore?”

  “Back in Eden…I lost my faith down in that basement.”

  “God.” Buddy couldn’t imagine. “What keeps you going man?”

  “That woman and her baby. I’ve got to see them through this.”

  Buddy nodded but Bear couldn’t see him.

  “That note, on the table,” said Buddy. “What are we going to do about Dead Ted?”

  Bear cleared his throat. “What do you wanna do about Dead Ted?”

  Buddy thought about it.

  “You know what? Nothing. Fuck Dead Ted.”

  The Convoy

  “Dude, what the fuck are you doing over there? Oh man.” Maurice walked up on Damar in the woods. When he said dude it sounded like doo. “You’re not whackin’ off are you?”

  “You wish.”

  “No seriously, doo, what the fuck you doing?”

  Damar had his back to Maurice and was obviously handling himself.

  “I’m trimmin’ my pubes, bro.”

  “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” Maurice stood next to Damar and leaned forward to look. “You’re not fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

  “Right. I’m not fucking kiddin’ you. And you had to look.”

  “Doo, what the fuck? Why are you grooming your pubes?”

  “Man’s always got to be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what?”

  “Hot date, man. Can’t be having at it with some pretty young thang, unleash the beast, and he’s lost like a bird in a nest. Ya feel me?”

  “You’re crazy, doo.”

  Damar shrugged, made one last snip at his groin with the small surgical scissors, and stood there admiring his handiwork. An AKS rested barrel up against his thigh.

  There was a low moan from the trees ahead of them.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Maurice said. “You’re attracting an audience.”

  “Maybe you can help me out, Mo. I got a lot of little wiry hairs back around my asshole I can’t get to, but maybe if I bend over—”

  Maurice had started to walk off, back to their jeep, and waved a hand dismissively at Damar and his nonsense.

  “Peepin’ Tom motherfuckers.” Damar looked into the foliage facing him, zipped and buttoned his jeans and picked up his assault rifle.

  “Doo, you’re out of your mind.” Maurice said when Damar caught up to him.

  “I’m out of my mind? Let me tell you what I am, bro. I’m ready for the hot and heavy.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How ‘bout you, Mo’? You ready if Lauren ever give it up to you?”

  “You fucked up, doo, you know that?”

  “I’m fucked up? World’s gone to shit, but a man and woman still attracted to one another. That’s a beautiful thing to me, bro. I mean, it would be a beautiful thing if the woman knew you existed. You gotta talk to her nigga.”

  “Doo, there are some things I wish I had never told you.”

  They were within sight of the jeep on the road and could see Steve, Eva and the kid. The kid was standing on a milk crate with the shoulder stocks of the Browning .50 cal. snug against his shoulders. The machine gun had a night vision scope mounted on it.

  “Don’t wo
rry, Mo. We’s cool. I’m just saying, when it comes to Lauren, you got no game son.”

  “Oh. And you’re mister-smooth, right?”

  “Well, maybe not as smooth as Steve over there, but I do alright, yeah.”

  “Doo, you bang blind women.”

  “Bro, Sonya is a MILF. No two ways about it.”

  “She’s a cougar, doo.”

  “That too, no doubt.”

  “And she’s blind, doo. Not to mention she’s got like fourteen fuckin’ kids.”

  “Three, bro. Three.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Mo, don’t let Eva hear you talkin’ that way about her sister. She’ll kick both our asses.”

  Another moan came from behind them. They turned to see a zombie break from the tree line and stumble towards them and the road. Of the thousands and thousands of zombies they had seen in the months since the outbreak this one looked especially putrescent. It had been a man. Its long, once-blonde hair was matted to its skull and neck. It wore a plaid green and red and black shirt-jacket over cargo pants and combat boots, the tongues of which flapped around.

  It saw the two men and groaned.

  Eva motioned to them from the jeep.

  “Let’s go,” said Maurice.

  “Nah, wait a second. I got something for Kurt Cobain over there.”

  Damar handed his AKS to Maurice and drew two throwing daggers he wore at his waist.

  “You know, throwing a knife at a motherfucker isn’t as easy as it looks.” Damar took three steps towards the zombie trudging their way and stopped. He closed one eye, squinted the other, and bit down on his tongue. Maurice thought he looked very funny, concentrating like that.

  “Doo, you look like you studying for your SATs.”

  Damar ignored him, drew the dagger back past his ear, and whipped his wrist forward. The dagger flew end over end past the zombie’s head to land in the grass beyond it.

  “See what I mean?” Damar said. “Motherfucker.”

  “He’s coming over here to do the Seattle stomp on your poor black ass.” Maurice laid down Damar’s AKS and his own Mini-14 then drew the machete from the sheath on his hip.

  “One more. One more.” Damar waved him away. “I can do this.”

  The zombie was about fifteen feet from them.

  Damar squinted, sighted, drew his arm back and launched the second blade, which buried itself in the thing’s chest. The zombie stopped in its tracks, looked down at the handle jutting from its solar plexus, looked up at the two men, growled and took another step.

  “Damn.”

  “Doo, you just pissed the fuckin’ thing off.”

  Maurice walked up to the beast and, before its rotting hands could grasp him, decapitated it with a swing of the machete. The headless torso keeled over into the grass as its head rolled several yards away.

  Damar retrieved his daggers, keeping one eye on the trees in case any more zombies emerged from that direction, and then he and Maurice returned to the jeep.

  “How’s that fifty suit you shorty?” he asked nine-year-old Nelson.

  “I want to shoot it,” admitted the boy.

  “You fire it and it’ll bring out all the zombies for miles,” said his Aunt Eva.

  From behind the wheel, and his mirrored aviator glasses, Steve nodded to Damar. “Your aim sucks, D.”

  “Your mother sucks—” Damar started to shoot back, noted Eva’s hostile glare indicating little Nelson, and caught himself, finishing his sentence with, “Lemons. And I got big motherfuckin’ lemons, Steve.”

  Steve wore a blue t-shirt with Cookie Monster’s face on the front of it.

  “It’ll be getting dark soon,” said Eva. “Let’s head back. They’ll be making camp.”

  “This road looks pretty good,” noted Maurice.

  “Yeah,” agreed Steve. “I wonder what the Greeks found?”

  Steve started the jeep and made a three-point turn on the road. The sun was out of the sky but the heat and humidity lingered. They all enjoyed the breeze whipping against their faces as they doubled back on the path they had followed earlier in the sultry day. Eva sat next to Nelson with one hand around her nephew’s shoulders, the other wrapped around the barrel of an M4 carbine complete with a fourteen-inch M26 under-barrel shotgun system, sound suppressor, and AN/PVS-17A Mini Night Vision Sight. The entire rifle rested barrels up on its telescoping stock.

  “When is this summer going to end?” Maurice turned around in the front passenger seat and called to Eva over the whip of the wind.

  “What?”

  “I said when is this summer going to end?”

  She looked at him quizzically, unable to make out his words over the noise of the jeep and the wind. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He waved it off and turned around.

  They followed the deserted four-lane blacktop, overgrown in places with weeds and small saplings, passing the occasional stalled or burned out vehicle on the road. Earlier in their day when they’d passed this way they’d seen no one, living or dead, and they saw no one now.

  A few minutes later Eva leaned forward and yelled loud enough for Steve to hear. “Stop for a minute.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just stop.”

  Steve pursed his lips and slowed the jeep to a halt.

  “Come with me, Nelson.” Eva hopped out of the jeep, leaving her M-4/M-26 behind. She retrieved a five-foot pole from the back of the vehicle then reached up and took Nelson under the arm, setting him on the road with her.

  “We’ll be right back,” she told the men and, holding one of Nelson’s hands, she led him off to the side of the road. A lone zombie had staggered from the tree line and was limping their way.

  Steve, Maurice, and Damar watched the woman and the boy walk off towards the zombie.

  “Look at the way she moves,” Damar said. “Like a cat. A big sexy cat.”

  “Man,” Steve said. “You know how many women I fucked before all this bullshit began?”

  “That countin’ sheep?” Damar asked.

  “Inflatable ones?” Maurice quipped.

  “Inflatable sheep. Nigga, I hadn’t thought of that one.”

  “Five hundred and twelve.”

  “But who’s counting, right?”

  “Wow. Are we supposed to be impressed?”

  “I assume that includes the unconscious ones too?”

  “No,” said Steve. It wasn’t clear who he was answering. “You know how many greasy dead heads I’ve killed since this bullshit dropped?”

  Neither Damar nor Maurice ventured a guess.

  “Two-thousand-six-hundred-eighty-six.”

  Damar let out a whistle.

  “Those are Magic Johnson numbers you’re posting there, bro,” he said.

  “And you know how many women I’ve banged since this shit started?”

  Again, neither Maurice nor Damar answered.

  “Sixteen. Fuckin’ sixteen man. Course, that doesn’t count blow jobs, but who counts those?”