by Mark Tufo
“Two Talbots, half the fun,” BT roared.
To answer your question, we’ve got maybe two days,” I told him, turning back to the roadway. I was almost able to see the leading edge of the evil that was coming.
“You know, I love me some good plinking, but don’t you think we should maybe up our arsenal a little?” BT asked as he put his shoes on. The image of BT wearing fishnet stockings gave me a smile that I made sure to hide before I turned to talk to him.
“Yeah, the Big 5 didn’t pan out quite like I had hoped. If this one is dry, it’s a good chance that everything in this vicinity is pretty much tanked.”
“So I hate to ask, but what’s your plan?”
“You’re not going to like this,” I told him honestly.
“Again with the shockers today.”
“House to house.”
“What! Are you insane, Talbot?” Wait, don’t answer that. I’d rather not know the answer. You know that’s a good way for us to get our heads blown off.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Deneaux said. She had been resting in the front seat. “I’m nearly out of cigarettes.”
“Great! I’ll grab the Camels under a hail of fire!” BT yelled.
“That would be wonderful, dear,” Mrs. Deneaux answered him in all seriousness.
“You two deserve each other!” BT said, pointing between Mrs. D and me.
Deneaux winked at me. I was two parts amused and one big part scared shitless.
BT stormed off, digesting my words.
“He’s very dramatic for such a large man,” Mrs. Deneaux said, looking at his retreating back.
“I thought I was the only one that didn’t think before they spoke,” I laughed.
She “pahhhed” at me, but she had a merriment in her eyes that I had never seen before from her. Strange times we were living in.
Chapter Four – Mike Journal Entry 3
“Hello occupants of this house!” I shouted. “We are friendly!”
“Very convincing,” BT said sarcastically from the front seat of the truck. I didn’t want him to come out. Just the sheer size of the guy made him look like hostility incarnate.
“I’m trying to establish a repertoire, BT,” I yelled to him.
“Bullshit, I bet you can’t spell the word and probably don’t even know what it means.”
“I most certainly know what it means,” (He was right on the spelling part though.) “You’re a pain-in-the-ass,” I told him.
“Hurry up and get your ass shot at, will you? I need to get out of this truck. My leg is starting to cramp up on me,” BT said.
“Hi occupants.”
“What are you? Junk mail?” Gary asked.
“Really?” I asked my brother, who was standing next to me, looking at the windows to see if any of the drawn shades moved.
“I just think that you could use a more personal touch,” he suggested.
“Give it a go,” I told him.
“People of Seventeen Georges Road!” he shouted.
“Much better,” I told him. He nodded in agreement.
“We are here looking for supplies, only from unoccupied homes. If you are home, please let us know and we will move on to the next house. We do not wish any sort of confrontation. Again, we are only looking for supplies,” Gary finished.
It sounded reasonable, but would anyone believe us? I wouldn’t, I’d be thinking they were looking for people. I’d no sooner open my door for strangers than I would a pack of zombies. This was more dangerous than taking Eliza head-on, yet here we were on both counts.
“I think I saw the shade move,” Gary said to me, I think he was full of it, but we turned around and addressed the next house.
“People of Eighteen Georges Road,” Gary said.
“How much time did you say we had?” BT asked, stepping out of the truck.
“Oh, will you shut up that racket!” the person from Seventeen Georges Road said. “Been trying to sleep in a little bit and then you band of idiots comes traipsing through the neighborhood. Should have brought one of those stupid ice cream trucks with the music going too!” he yelled out from his front screen door.
He stepped out and appeared to be in his late fifties, early sixties, plaid pajama bottoms, old brown slippers, and a threadbare terry bathrobe, that had filled more than one moths belly. The perfect picture would have been if he’d had a pipe in his mouth and an over-under shotgun in his hands. Both elements were noticeably missing.
“What do you need!?” he yelled. “The sooner you dolts get what you want, the sooner I hope you’ll get out of here.”
I was a little dumbfounded. It was not often these days when I got berated. Shot at? Sure. Dressed down? Not so much.
“Damn! I thought Deneaux had crotchety all sewn up. She’s got nothing on him,” BT said. Then he sheepishly turned around, realizing that Deneaux was only a few feet away. “No offense,” he said to her.
“None taken,” she said as she stepped from the cab. “We need cigarettes,” she yelled right before she began a coughing fit I was sure would dislodge a hot, blackened lung from her thin chest.
“Plenty of those,” Crotchety said. “More than I could smoke in this lifetime. Never smoked before, but when I was in that empty convenience store, it seemed like something I wanted to start. Smoked one of them damn things when I got home and realized I couldn’t stand them. Didn’t really see a need to bring them back.”
Mrs. D was already on the move.
“I’ve got some food, but I’m not in the sharing mood. Plenty of other houses you can get that from.”
“Sir, we don’t need any of that, we’re looking for guns and ammo.” I told him.
“What do you need that for?” he asked in all seriousness. I thought he was dead panning a killer joke.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked him when he was still looking at me for an answer.
“I have never carried a gun, so I saw no sense in starting now. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those bleeding heart liberals; just always afraid I’d kill myself figuring out how to use them. I have a knife, but I only use that to cut open packages of stuff.”
“Wait,” Brian said, not believing a word he was hearing. “You’re telling us that you’ve survived all this time not having to shoot or kill anything?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that I didn’t kill anything. About a week back, had this mean old raccoon trying to get into my basement, threw a brick at him, but he didn’t get the message. Took two slugs with the shovel before he finally died.”
“You’re…you’re playing with us, right?” Brian asked, still not believing a word he was hearing.
“I don’t know you from Adam, son, and I’ve never been known to play.”
Mrs. Deneaux pushed past the man and into his entryway.
“They’re in the cabinet in the kitchen next to the fridge,” he told her, pointing back into his house. A few seconds later, I could hear what could only be described as a cow getting its milk-fattened udders caught in multiple mousetraps, it was that unsettling.
“Is that Deneaux?” Gary asked, placing his hands over his ears.
“I guess she found the cigarettes,” Crotchety said.
Brian was shaking his head, walking around in small circles. He was mumbling to himself. “No guns! The world is caving in on itself and this crazy old bastard doesn’t even have a gun.”
“What’s wrong with your friend?” Crotchety asked. “He looks like he has distemper.”
Deneaux pushed past the old man, her arms stacked high with cartons of varying smokes. She looked like a schoolgirl that just got a fully paid shopping spree to the mall.
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “Would you happen to know where we could get some guns then? So that we can be on our way.”
“You look like you’re planning trouble,” Crotchety said with scrutinizing speculation. “I don’t like trouble. It tends to get people killed.”
“Listen
, old man!” BT bellowed. “See this man here?” BT said as he placed his hands on my shoulders. “If trouble were the rarest element on the planet, my good friend, Michael Talbot,” BT tousled my hair for effect, “would have the entire market cornered.”
“Thanks, man.” I appreciate that.
“No, this man needs to understand. If trouble were a fine thread, Mike could weave it into a three piece suit.”
“I think he gets it.”
“No, I’ve got one more.”
“Fine, go ahead.”
“If trouble were a drop of water, Mike could fill a swimming pool.”
“Oooh, that was the best one,” Gary said.
“Hilarious, guys.”
“And you stay with him. Why?” the old man asked.
“Because for some damn reason, he always finds a way to stay one step ahead of it,” BT said proudly.
“One step isn’t a lot of cushion, son,” Crotchety said.
“I’d be six feet under, if it wasn’t for him.”
“Understood. Three doors down, dipshit named Greg Hodgkins, Nascar fan and all that implies was shooting through his window for hours it seemed when the zombies first came. That very same night, I heard his screams for help. The more he shot, the more zombies came. Now I’m no genius, but it almost seems that if you leave them alone, they tend to do the same.”
“Yeah? We haven’t had that kind of luck,” I told him.
“No,” Gary said over-exaggeratedly as he shook his head.
I looked over to where this great battle had waged, but except for a few splotches on the curb, I didn’t see much evidence. “Where are the bodies?”
“We waited a few--” he started.
“We?” I asked.
“Sonny, do you really think I’m stupid enough to answer my door in my sleeping gear without a little back-up?” he asked as he pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket. He must have seen the look on my face. “Relax, no one has you in their sights, just yet. We just kind of keep an eye out for each other.”
“I completely understand.”
“So we waited a few days until any of the zees that could move on their own power left, and then we piled up the rest of them and had a huge bonfire. We gave Greg a proper burial, although I’m not sure he deserved it. He was kind of a prick, you know the type. Has two pit bulls and lets them roam the neighborhood. Kids were scared to go out and play.”
“Nobody else wants anything?” I asked trying to be as nonchalant as possible as I did a three-sixty trying to ascertain where his “friends” might be. It was possible he was bluffing, but the situation didn’t necessitate me seeing his cards.
“Those of us that are left want for nothing.”
“Thank you…” I wasn’t sure how to address him.
“Occupant works just fine, and just so we’re clear, you’re welcome to rummage all you want in his house and no other on this street. Are we clear?”
“Not a problem, thank you for your hospitality.” And for once, I meant it, not a note of sarcasm in my voice. I’d like to say I’d help a stranger, but I think I’d be fooling myself.
Deneaux was busy opening multiple cartons of smokes, smelling individual packs as if they were fine wines, while the rest of us walked down to Greg’s former abode. Except for a few busted out windows, his home looked in fairly decent shape. Two rusted-out hulks of cars sat on cinderblocks on the side of the driveway.
“Holy shit,” BT said, “it’s the living embodiment of a cliché.”
“Okay, to make this perfect, he’d need to have an old school, giant, television box, but it has to be broken and have a small, thirteen-inch black and white sitting on top. I answered him. “First gun choice bet?” I asked him.
“You’re on,” BT said, fist-bumping me.
“Dammit,” I said as I walked into Greg’s den and found myself staring straight at what appeared to be a mammoth, sixty-five-inch flat screen TV mounted to the wall.
“Now I might not be the most intelligent man, but my guess is that isn’t thirteen inches. Do you want me to round up a tape measure to make sure?” BT asked, smiling.
“Find the guns, ass,” I told him as I went into the kitchen, where an H&K 9mm sat on the kitchen table. “How do you feel about 9mms?” I shouted to BT. I was thinking this was going to be a treasure trove and I wanted his first dibs selection off the board.
“That is a weapon of choice of the common thug and I want no part of it, especially since I am looking at a fully auto AK with a drum magazine.”
I ran out of the kitchen to see what BT was holding. It was a sight. And I would have loved to have gotten it, that was of course, until we figured out that that was what Greg had been using before his demise and he had not saved even one last round to take himself out.
“Hard luck,” I told BT, smacking his shoulder as we tore apart the house for fifteen minutes, looking for anything to change the gun from its status of dangerous looking paperweight.
“I can still swing this thing,” BT said. He was pissed because after that, I came across a riot shotgun, which I laid claim to, plus about a hundred deer shot rounds. Besides the other arms we found, he had an AR, but it looked like he had run over the lower receiver with a tank. There would be no rounds going down range in that thing.
“Not bad, it’s a start,” Brian said as we loaded the truck.
“I don’t care what old Occupant Seventeen said, but that house was ransacked,” BT said, still completely irked about his lack of rounds.
“Maybe if you just wave it around aggressively, people will get scared,” Gary suggested.
“Talbot you had better rein your brother in,” BT snarled.
“He’s my older brother, BT. He isn’t going to listen to me.”
“Nice pistol,” Paul said as I was looking it over, trying to figure out the cocking mechanism, safety and every other moving part. “You should give it to Deneaux.”
I looked at him like he had just snorted some weed.
“No man, I’m not kidding. The lady can shoot the balls off a gnat from across the room,” he told me.
“Paul, I love you, man, but I think all those years of drug use finally caught up with you.”
“Well, if they caught up with me, they sure as hell snagged you too.”
“Fair enough, but I’m not the one suggesting we give Deneaux one of the few guns we have right now.”
“Listen I know you’re a great shot with the rifle, no doubt. But she’s unshakeable with the pistol. I watched her, man, she was like the pistol champ of 1908 or some shit.”
“1908 huh? What’s that make her? Like one hundred and thirty?”
“She could be,” Paul said, looking over to the cab. “Doesn’t matter though, she’s freaking amazing with that thing.”
“Fine. I’ll take your crazy ass word for it.”
“You are not giving that old bat that pistol are you?” BT challenged me.
“She has to guard her smokes somehow,” I told him.
“We had an understanding, you and me, Talbot. I would hang with you, if and only if, you didn’t get any fucking nuttier,” BT told me.
“I don’t remember agreeing to that,” I told him. I walked over to the cab of the truck.
Deneaux was barely visible from the dense cloud of smoke she was producing. I rapped on the window with the pistol. “You want this?”
She rolled down the window only far enough to grab the proffered weapon. “H&K P2000 V3 9mm,” she said, putting the cigarette she had in her right hand in her mouth so that she could grab the pistol. I just want to note that she already had one in her mouth, which I can only assume she was holding with her left. “Nice weapon,” she mouthed around the butts. She pulled the slide back and looked in the chamber. “Clean too, how many rounds?”
“Fifty-ish.”
“I’ll take it. We done?” she asked, looking up at me. I nodded, but before I could complete the gesture, she rolled her window back up.
&n
bsp; “Always a pleasure,” I told her. She waved me off and began to load the clip. “Who wants to drive?” I asked.
“I’d rather run behind the truck now,” BT said and he probably would have too if my emergency field surgery on his shot leg hadn’t left him with a pronounced limp.
“Hey, you’re the immortal,” Gary said. “You should probably drive, all that second-hand smoke would be bad for the rest of us.”
“You guys suck,” I said. We all got back into the truck I made sure to honk for an extra long burst as we pulled away from Seventeen Georges Road, I waved enthusiastically for his hospitality. What can I say? I was feeling a little dour. Seventeen gave me the finger as we rolled away. We couldn’t keep doing this house to house crap. Eventually, we were going to come across someone that didn’t want company and we didn’t have the numbers or the arms to get into a firefight from an undefended position.
I was thinking of scrapping the whole idea of punching Eliza in the eye and just racing to catch up with Tracy. I’d rather spend my last few days with her anyway.
“I’ve got an idea,” Brian said from the backseat where the smoke was only minimally better. Gary and BT had thought it a better idea to sit in the truck bed, it was a balmy fifty degrees out and the sun was shining bright.
“I’m listening,” I choked out through the curtain of carcinogens.
“If you can find a hardware store, we’re going to need some tools.”
I drove back by the Big 5. If I remembered correctly, I had seen a Home Depot somewhere in the vicinity, I hadn’t really acknowledged it then, as I wasn’t planning on building a catapult at the time. “Hey, you’re not planning on making a trebuchet, are you?”
“A what?”
“A catapult-looking thingie.”
“I should have sat in the back with the other two,” Brian complained.
Paul had his sweater up over his nose, and his eyes were bloodshot. “Shit, Deneaux, could you lighten up a little on the cigarettes? I can barely breathe.”
“That’s the problem with you young ones today, no longevity. You are like all the products of your time, you’re not built to last like us old timers are. Probably would have asked for your HR generalist before you landed on the beaches in Normandy. We weren’t called the greatest generation for nothing.”
