by Mark Tufo
Randi Betcher had used the container in a way that half the basketball team and part of the track team would not soon forget, but that is a tale for a much different kind of book. Wendy Treadman had decided that spreading the sticky gel on the door handles at every residence at the James House dormitory was just absolutely the funniest thing since just about ever!
She had just finished up and was heading out the door when Gert had hit her shoulder, nearly knocking the plastic jar to the ground.
“Watch it!” Gert had sneered at her.
She was going to call him a big fat jerk, but she told her best friend, Jenny, that he had crazy eyes and she just wanted to get away from there.
Gert had just received his first grade of C in his entire academic career and could not even begin to process the information. He had nearly needed to be tossed from the class when he got loud with the professor, arguing that he could not come to class because there were people out to get him.
Professor Garrity had told him that he needed to get some help and that maybe he should just go home and get some rest.
Gert had mumbled to himself the entire walk from the far side of campus. He had wanted to hit the little Humpty Dumpty girl that had gotten in his way as he walked into his dorm. When he made it to his room and his hand came down and made contact with the Vaseline on his door handle, something inside of Gert quite literally snapped. Had anyone been close enough to listen, they might have been able to hear it.
He didn’t scream, his normal and usual venting mechanism; this time he internalized it. Gert tossed his book bag, smashing his floor lamp which landed on top of his illegal toaster oven, something he had purchased since the attacks so he would not have to leave for dinner. Gert leaned up against the door, his ear pressed firmly against the cool metal, the first person that walked by his room was the guilty party; he was convinced of it.
Soft footsteps padded down the hallway. “Gotcha, mother fucker,” he breathed out softly. He waited until he was sure the guilty party was outside his doorway doing all sorts of unspeakable things against him again.
Gert ripped the door open. “I know what you did,” he said calmly enough, but the red-rimmed eyes and clenched fists belied his demeanor.
Debbie stared back at him in shock and a growing sense of foreboding. How could he know? I’m going to get thrown out of school for this.
Gert was somewhat taken aback when he saw Debbie standing there. He knew that she secretly had a crush on Mike Talbot, that asshole, but could she be in on the pranks with him? Of course! It all makes sense that she would be, probably trying to impress him, I’ll fucking show her.
“I need you to come in here so that we can discuss this.” His words were calm enough, but emotions swirled like a whirlwind inside.
Debbie felt trapped, but maybe she could mitigate the damage. She stepped into his room, Gert looked up and down the hallway for any witnesses, then quickly shut the door.
“Please sit,” Gert said motioning to his desk chair.
Debbie noticed the tossed book bag and shattered lamp, and for the first time since seeing Gert at the doorway, she took a long at the Resident Assistant. He looked bad, in fact, worse than bad. His eyes were streaked with thick heavy lines of red, his sockets were sunken and his features were even pale for a man of European descent.
“I need to go,” Debbie said, just realizing that she was in the den of the enemy.
Gert slapped her so hard, she thought she could hear her fillings rattle. Should have taken better care of my teeth was her only thought as she sat hard in the chair, the momentum of her fall sending the chair rolling for a couple of feet until the rollers came in contact with Gert’s throw rug and then her neck snapped back.
Gert was on her before she could defend herself. His heavy blows rained down on her. She wanted to scream, but Gert had delivered a shot to her stomach and she found herself devoid of sufficient air to produce sound.
Gert pushed Debbie off the chair and onto his bed. “Now I will show you how I discipline bad people the correct way,” he said as he began to pull his belt off.
“Please, no,” Deb said, weakly holding her hands up to defend herself.
Mike had left class early. He had been having another major disagreement with, his what? What was she truly to him? He didn’t know. They dated, they had fun and they were intimate, but she was in a committed, long-term relationship with a football player from a distant college. Oh man, I’m the OTHER guy in this relationship, he moaned.
He could think of worse ways to be used, but even though he was a guy, he wanted more out of the relationship. They were going to a concert next week, maybe he would give her an ultimatum then. Or not, he thought sourly because he would rather take a piece than nothing at all.
It was these thoughts he was thinking as he got his key out to enter into his room, but the key ring caught on his pocket and fell to the ground. “Fucker,” Mike said as he bent down to pick them up.
He heard a loud “thwack” as he stood back up. He was staring straight at Gert’s door. What is that crazy bastard doing? Another thwack, this one immediately followed by a low groan of a female.
What the fuck? Mike thought in alarm. Maybe if Gert had got laid once in a while he wouldn’t be such a butt dart. But this didn’t sound like any kind of lovemaking Mike had ever heard of. Mike was moments away from saying that this was none of his business. He was afraid he was going to go down the hallway and open that door and a leather-clad Gert would be holding a whip. Then, after he found out this was part of Gert’s sexual escapades, Gert would do the unthinkable and turn around to expose his assless chaps. That would be something Mike would never be able to burn out of his cortex no matter how many bowls of weed he smoked.
Another thwack. Mike jumped back startled, but the barely audible “Please stop,” galvanized his resolve.
He almost squinted when he opened the door in the belief that if he was about to see something he didn’t want to, his eyes would be closer to being completely drawn and he might be able to salvage the ability to eat the next week. Mike was completely caught off guard when he cautiously opened the door and saw Gert standing by his bed, hand raised high with a belt ready to deliver another blow.
“Umm, hi Gert, um your door was open and I…”
Gert turned around, his face pulled back in a mask of rage.
Holy shit! Mike thought. He was scared. He felt like his balls had just been dipped in ice water independent of the rest of his body.
A swollen-faced Debbie peered from around Gert’s frame, her hand came up pleadingly. “He’s insane, help me,” she muttered.
Mike became enraged as recognition of what was happening here rapidly dawned on him. The time for words was over. Mike charged Gert, every muscle, every tendon, every spurt of adrenaline surged in the reflex to protect Debbie. Gert was slow to change the course of his force and only half turned by the time Mike had crossed the distance of the room, slamming into the side of him at a full sprint.
Gert’s right leg caught on the rug as the force of Mike’s dive nailed him in the side and the two fell onto the bed next to Debbie. Gert’s lower leg was pinned against the oak side rail. The resultant snap did little to stop Mike as he mashed his fist repeatedly into Gert’s bloodied face.
“I will fucking kill you!” Mike raged, his knuckles bleeding and scraped to the bone from making so many connecting hits.
It was Paul that pulled his friend from the now passed-out form of Gert, saving his friend from a manslaughter charge. Gert’s attorneys did try to charge Mike with assault, but the judge threw it out. Gert got expelled from college. Once his leg healed sufficiently, Gert had to do a mandatory thirty-day psych eval which ended up being a one hundred and eighty-day stay at a sanitarium and five years of probation.
After that, they never did find out what happened to Gert, but like all things in life, they thought he might be back someday. Debbie went home for a couple of weeks and Mike was fearful that h
is plan to get rid of Gert would also get rid of his new friend. Mike couldn’t believe his happiness when Deb finally did come back, so much so, that he was happy he had given his “sort of girlfriend” the ultimatum that he had. The girl had said she wouldn’t break up with her boyfriend, so Mike broke it off with her. They missed the concert, but how big of a deal was that anyway? Now he was free to pursue whomever he desired and he gave Deb a huge hug when she got out of the passenger seat of her mother’s car.
“Good to see you!” He had been so thrilled, he accidentally/on purpose kissed her lips. Both of them had blushed when they realized Debbie’s mother was watching.
“Um, Mom? This is the boy that saved me.”
Mrs. Branch’s face quickly turned warm as she came over to give Mike a hug. “Thank you for helping my daughter.”
“You’re welcome,” Mike said, slightly embarrassed.
And that had been the start of a particularly warm and loving relationship for Mike.
***
Paul couldn’t understand why he got the “warm and fuzzies” when he thought about it. Maybe I’m just expressing my feminine side, he thought as he once again struggled with the door, hoping that he could marshal up more masculine traits at the moment and force the door open.
Paul was able to pull the door open just as the zombie made it onto the landing with him. Paul squeezed between the storm door and the front door. The zombie was intent on making a “Paul Panini” as it pressed up against the storm door with all of its murderous intent. Paul was staring eye to eye with the monster, his nose skewed at an angle from the pressure being applied to him. Shredded bits of used diapers spilled from the mouth of the zombie. Paul could not imagine anything much grosser except maybe walking in on his parents making love, but he wasn’t even gonna go there.
Paul reached behind him with his left hand for the doorknob, while with his right arm he tried to keep the zombie from pressing him into the grain of the front door. His hand, at first, could find no purchase, but as he frantically moved his hand back and forth across the handle and more detritus fell off, he finally made a friction-full attempt. His heart leapt as the handle turned and quickly plummeted when he felt himself falling inwards. Paul was able to pull his shot foot up over the front step and into the house. He was not so lucky with the other as the zombie pressed its attack and wedged Paul’s ankle between the storm door and the step.
The fulcrum that was Paul’s weight as it fell backward was easily enough leverage to apply the needed amount of pressure to snap the bottom part of his leg. His foot now dangled at a useless ninety degree angle from the rest of his prone body. Paul’s screams of pain reverberated in the house. He began to hyperventilate as he was having difficulty catching his breath. The pain was a fire that burned all rational thought from his mind. The zombie kept forcing the door against Paul’s useless leg. It was like adding a fresh dose of salt on a newly whelped whipping welt each time the zombie forced the door on his leg.
Paul instinctually kicked out with his “good” leg, barely even able to register the slight spike in pain when the wound made contact with the storm door. The blow had the desired effect as it pushed the zombie away from the door. Paul was able to drag his broken leg in through the opening, crying anew as the splintered bones came back in contact with their newly departed brethren and his leg was once again in the straight position on the foyer floor.
Glass from the storm door shattered as the zombie crashed back into it. The zombie was trying to reach its hands in. Paul screamed as he placed his hands down on broken glass. He pushed back and with a bloody hand, he slammed the front door. The leading edge of the front door clipped his broken leg as it swung shut. The pain was too intense for Paul, his body shut down in an attempt to keep him from going into shock. Paul laid there with his shredded hands, broken leg, sprained ankle and a bullet wound, his body fighting to restore some order. Paul could not and did not notice the small shadows that crossed his path as he lay helpless.
Chapter Twenty-One – Mike Journal Entry 12
It was hours later when Mary finally called Josh downstairs to eat, and I thought it would be a little weird if I stayed upstairs and played with his Lego’s by myself. As it was, it had been a brief, enjoyable respite from the horrors of the last few months. We created all sorts of alternate worlds with the plastic building blocks. Every last one of them did not contain a zombie, not a one.
The table was set with a meal consisting of an MRE and was as presentable as possible, considering the nature of the product being used. I pulled out a chair to sit with the rest of the dinner attendees when Mary spoke.
“That chair isn’t for you,” she said disdainfully.
“Okay,” I said furrowing my eyebrows. “Who is it for then?”
“BT,” she said as she tore a cheese packet with her teeth.
“You know he’s still asleep, right? I just passed him on the way in here and he’s snoring so loud, it sounds like he’s clearing a forest.”
“The fact remains that it is his seat,” she repeated.
“Okay.” My eyebrows still furrowed. I was missing something, but I had not a clue as to what.
Mrs. Deneaux was at the head of the table and was looking directly at me. She was smiling as she forked in a large portion of military surplus ham steak.
“Can I eat?” I asked Mary.
“You’ve worn out your welcome,” she said, looking at me with a piercing stare.
“Mom?!” Josh rang out. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Hush, honey. Eat your dinner.”
Josh stood up and began to walk away from the table. “I’ll eat when he does.”
“You’ll sit down and do what I say, young man!” she yelled. “What have you said to him?” She turned venomous on me.
“We were building spaceships with Lego’s,” I said, backing up. “The only thing I said to him was how cool his ship had come out, and once or twice I asked him for a certain piece. What the hell is going on? I don’t know you well enough to illicit this response. I mean, sure if you spent the time to really get to know me, I’d be able to do this to you on a fairly routine basis.” I was shooting for humor, but ended up with a self-inflicted wound. She stared back flatly at me.
“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” I told her.
“We are?” Gary asked, I noticed he had not stopped eating his meal. I wanted to thank him for his solidarity.
“You can’t!” Josh cried.
“What about BT? Is he ready to go?” Gary asked around a mouthful of something that resembled meat. “And Paul? We still need to find him.”
It was quicker than a cobra strike and could have been as lethal, the look that Deneaux shot at Gary.
My brain was tossing all this info together in the washing machine of my mind, but no matter how much spin I put on it, it still kept coming out dirty and stained. Deneaux had planted bad seeds about me in Mary’s head. Deneaux wanted us kicked out of here, but why? My mind began to spin faster, not just out of here, meaning this house, but out of here, meaning this city. She was covering something up and all that it could be was Paul. Brian was a dead zombie. How he became a zombie could be debated and how he was shot was up for question also, but the fact remained he had been a zombie and Deneaux had every right to dispatch of him. Clinical word I told my brain as I thought of my former ally in survival.
“Two days,” I told Mary, but her head was shaking in the negative. “I need two days. Tomorrow we will go out all day, looking for my friend.” Deneaux’s fork hesitated for a split second as it traveled to her pursed, shriveled lips.
She put her full fork down on her Chinette plate.
“Really, Michael, you just told her that we would be leaving tomorrow. I do not think it is fair to her that you should put her and her son in this much danger.”
“Thank you, Vivian,” Mary said, reaching out and clasping Deneaux’s claw, I mean, hand.
I looked at Deneaux with my “I know what you�
��re trying to do” gaze. She merely smiled.
“Fine, tomorrow it is,” I told Mary. Deneaux’s smile grew further, I was afraid her paper thin skin was going to tear as it stretched beyond its limits. “We’ll move to your neighbor’s house.” Deneaux’s smile evaporated.
Mary shot from her seat. “You can’t!”
“Sure I can. Who do you think you are to tell me where I can set up my base of operations?”
“That’s too close!” she yelled again.
“I’ve got one friend who is missing and another that hasn’t awakened in hours. And you’ve seen the size of him. How far do you think I can carry him? I’m not going very far until I get both issues resolved,” I said to Mary as much as I did Deneaux.
Mary plopped down in her seat, cupping her head in her hands. “Two days and you promise you’ll go?”
“I’ll leave this house and your general vicinity, yes,” I told her.
“That’ll have to do,” she answered solemnly.
“Yes,” Josh said, pumping his fist.
“Can I eat now?”
“Not at the table,” she said without removing her head from her hands.
That was fine with me. If I wasn’t with my immediate family, I preferred to eat alone. I didn’t generally like people enough to break bread with them and make idle chit chat about things I didn’t give a crap about; and don’t get me started if I came across signs of uncleanliness on their utensils or dishes. It was best to not go down a road lined with potholes, when holding such a fragile, glass-wrapped psyche like my own.
I grabbed BT’s MRE off the table before she could object and headed into the living room. Josh was immediately on my heels. Mary had not stopped him, probably hadn’t pulled her head up yet to take note. BT slumbered on as I tore open the near nuclear-proof plastic wrapping.
