Survive

by Todd Sprague

  “Shhh...I think they need to do this,” John whispered back, hugging Sara to him.

  With a final howl of glee, the children attacked in unison, splitting the Zed apart. Candy burst from the paper body like rainbow colored blood, spilling all over the stage. The children dropped their bats and scrambled for the plastic wrapped booty.

  Adults gasped as the Zed split open.

  John and Sara held each other quietly, tears in their eyes, as the children laughed with joy as they claimed their sugary treasures.

  The party continued even after the Zed piñata had been cleared away. Sara had left John to see to the children and to make sure that none of the adults would interfere in their fun, no matter how bizarre they found it.

  John stood with Emmet Stoltz around a small fire. They sipped cool dark beer from brown bottles with labels printed in German.

  “The last scavenging party we sent out said they didn’t see a single Zed out there.” He raised his bottle and looked at it. “They were able to bring back quite a few...necessities.” John grinned.

  “Funny, I never would have bought this stuff if the world hadn’t fallen to shit.” Emmet drawled, taking a long pull from the frosty bottle.

  “Here’s to the world falling to shit, then.” John raised his bottle and clinked it with Emmet’s. They both chuckled as they drank.

  Down the pathway, from around a bend, Jose walked, clad neck to ankle in mottled brown plastic covered with leather straps and bright silver buckles. He wore high off road motorcycle boots that went over the plastic armor on his legs, and had a motorcycle helmet under his left arm. He pulled a big net sack with his right arm. He was mumbling loudly as he dragged the bag behind him. “Come on, you could help a little, you know? It’s not my fault you got clumsy.” He stopped talking as soon as he saw John and Emmet staring at him. He straightened up and looked at them.

  “What do you think? I told you I’d finish it tonight!”

  “Yeah, but you were supposed to make it for me, not you. I’m not letting you out there in that, Jose.” John walked toward his brother-in-law as he spoke.

  “Duh. I made one for you too, in size Extra Dorky.” Jose grinned at his own joke.

  John looked down at the net sack and saw an identical set of plastic armor, spray painted in matte black.

  “I finished yours first. It’s got a little extra something in it. I went for speed on mine, though.”

  “How’d you know my size?” John asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

  “Dude, Sara told me. She knows your body disgustingly well, and I’d like to never talk about that again. Or else, you know, I’d have to kill you.”

  Chuckling at such a protective brother sort of answer, John and Emmet began pulling pieces of armor from the sack. Flat black pieces of plastic had been heat-molded into tubular shapes that slid over John’s arms and legs in segments. Each piece consisted of a hard outer piece of plastic with a soft, thick fabric inside. The joints were made of the same fabric covered by thick leather.

  Emmet picked up a piece and looked inside. “Is that...”

  “Bullet proof? Yep! I sewed pieces of those vests we got from the police station in town inside yours. I left them out of mine, cause I want speed.”

  “Do you think the Zeds are going to start shooting back?” John said, as he pulled a thigh section up his thick right leg.

  “Hey, you’re the one that pissed off those guys at the Guard base.”

  “That’s true, but I doubt that this stuff you sewed together would hold up to something like those guys could deliver.” John raised his arms as Emmet helped him into the chest piece. It was actually two segments, a front and back, that opened at the bottom like a clam shell. Emmet fastened it together with the provided belts and buckles, pulling it tight. John was surprised at how much movement it allowed him, while still seeming to cover everything with either the hard plastic or thick leather.

  “Relax, John. I had help designing it.” He flicked his eyes quickly toward the path he had just come from. John noticed the glance.

  “What do you mean? Other than Sara telling you my dimensions? Who helped you?”

  “Oh, uh, I mean, I read some books. It’ll work, you’ll see.” He handed John a motorcycle helmet from the bag. It was a full faced helmet with a piece of the heavy plastic covering the visor with a narrow slit for viewing. The neck had been covered with heavy leather, which slid down inside the chest piece. A row of short spikes dotted the top of the helmet like a mohawk. The padding inside the helmet had been replaced with the Kevlar fabric, two or three layers thick.

  John stood in the armor, with the helmet on and fastened down and looked at Emmet. Emmet looked between John and Jose, noticing the differences in the armor.

  “You look like a tank, John. I like the spikes on the arms. For punching?” Emmet asked Jose, as he rotated one of the spikes on John’s arm. It lay pointing backwards along the outside of the arm, on a hinge. Jose nodded to Emmet, his helmet wobbling with his head. Emmet pulled the spike out and swung it around so it pointed towards John’s hand. It locked into place, the point laying about eight inches past John’s hand. He pulled on it but it didn’t so much as budge.

  Emmet raised his eyebrows in appreciation of Jose’s craftsmanship. “That’s some good, solid work, kid.”

  “I told you, it’ll work.”

  John walked over to Jose, surprised at how easy it was to walk in the suit of armor. It fit him like a glove, and not a single piece wobbled or felt loose.

  “Jose, you’re a good man, and you’re smart, but how on earth did you make this so...perfectly? Not the size, but how it works. How’d you do it?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jose quipped.

  “Try me.”

  “Fine. I had help.”

  “From?”

  “Eddie.”

  John blinked. “Eddie? Your friend Eddie? Dead Eddie?”

  Emmet looked back and forth between John and Jose, the utter strangeness of two men in plastic armor and motorcycle helmets lost in the face of the conversation.

  “Yeah, that Eddie. He’s not dead. I mean, he is dead, but he talks to me sometimes.”

  “Jose... what are you talking about?” John lowered his voice, not wanting any nearby party-goers to overhear the conversation if they happened to wander by.

  “He talks to me sometimes. Like, I don’t know. I... god, I don’t know. Like that movie you like with the...crap, you know.” He made his voice sound raspy and kind of British. ‘If you kill me I’ll just be more powerful when I come back.’”

  John shook his head. “That’s Star Wars, A New Hope, and you mangled it a bit. Are you saying Eddie’s a Jedi?”

  “No, I mean like a ghost. Like, he comes back to help me and told me some things to make the armor better.”

  John stared at Jose for a moment. “Jesus. I’m... I don’t know what to say.”

  Emmet stepped in and slapped Jose on the back. “How ‘bout for starters, say ‘Nice job, kid.’”

  John nodded inside his helmet. “Nice job, kid. We’ll talk more about this later, though.” He looked down at the wicked spike extending from his forearm. He flexed his fist inside the thick leather glove he’d slipped on. How am I supposed to explain this to Sara? he thought to himself. Aloud he said, “Damn nice job.”

  * * *

  Later, after the party had quieted except for a few die-hards, John finished hanging the armor up in the little cabin. Sara lay in bed, watching him.

  “Do you really think that’s going to work?” she asked. “Will it keep you safe?”

  John kept his voice low so as not to be heard by the others in the cabin. “I think it will. It’s solid, far better than I ever thought Jose could do. It’s tough, it’s flexible, and he even made it bullet resistant.”

  “How did he know how to do that?”

  “Sara, I don’t know. Honestly, he shouldn’t have been able to make anything this...complex.” J
ohn scratched his head as he stood there in just his boxers, looking at the armor.

  “I have to tell you something, sweetheart. He thinks his friend, Eddie, came back as a ghost and helped him make it. I overheard him talking to himself tonight. He thought he was talking to Eddie’s ghost.”

  Sara frowned at John. “That’s so not funny.”

  “I wish I was joking. I don’t know what to do about him. I’m worried that he snapped down in the basement of that church.”

  Sara’s eyes welled up with tears. “Who could blame him? I should have been there.” John watched as his wife pulled herself out of her guilt before it consumed her. “John, what do we do?”

  “I don’t know, but I can’t argue with the results. Whatever happened, whatever he thinks is happening, he may have just helped save a lot of lives. If he can make more of these...well, first, we have to make sure it works. We’ll use it in a test run before we make any more. Hell, if it works, who knows. Maybe the kid really is seeing ghosts.”

  “Damn it, John, this is serious!” Sara said, her voice cracking as she spoke. “He’s my little brother,” she said quietly.

  “Baby, I know that. But who knows? The dead don’t stay dead. Why not ghosts?” He shook his head at the thought. “Not like we don’t deserve a little help from anywhere after what we’ve been through. Do you know why we’re still alive?”

  Sara looked at John. “Because of you.”

  John blinked in surprise. “What? No, no, that’s not what I mean.”

  “Well, okay then, why are we still alive?”

  “Because we not only rolled with the punches, we threw them back. We accepted what was happening and went with it as best we could. Maybe this is one of those situations where we need to just roll with it and see where it takes us.”

  Sara shook her head but didn’t say anything, worry for her brother evident on her tired face.

  John shucked off his boxers and kicked them into a corner.

  “Fuck. I need sleep.” He crawled into bed and pulled Sara close to him.

  “Hmm,” she murmured, “that isn’t what I was hoping you needed.” Smiling, he kissed Sara softly on the back of her neck as he pressed against her. She moaned as she felt his lips pressed on her skin. She turned to him, her smooth, hot skin a contrast to his rough, cool flesh. She pressed her lips against his in hungry, love-fueled need. They made sweet, gentle love under the thick blankets, careful not to make too much noise while still making sure the other heard their heated whispers in the dark. When they were done, Sara lay on John’s chest, breathing softly in his arms as she drifted into the deep, uninterrupted sleep that only an orgasm could provide. He kissed her head, completely satisfied, and listened to the sounds of the last few party-goers outside as they finally moved off to their own quarters.

  * * *

  John and Sara awoke to the sound of a single gunshot. John picked up his watch and saw that it was only four a.m. He listened, waiting for the telltale sound of automatic gunfire that would signal an attack on the compound. Then, the little radio John kept on his nightstand crackled to life.

  “John, you better get down to the square. Something’s happened with Marta.” John didn’t immediately recognize the voice through his sleep haze and the extra static of almost dead rechargeable batteries.

  He thumbed the talk button and replied, “On my way.” He jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants, grabbed his P90 from the chair beside the bed, and ran out the door, grabbing his coat on the way. The freezing cold air hit him like a wall as he ran out of the cabin. Sara wasn’t far behind him when he reached the little open area in the center of the compound they’d taken to calling the square. A crowd of people congregated, but they parted as John and Sara approached.

  Ahead, a man lay on the ground clutching his leg. His pants were soaked with red liquid. Marta stood near him, a pistol still clenched in her right hand. Her shirt was ripped, one sleeve pulled all the way off. Members of the Fast Response Safety Team stood to either side of her, a few with their weapons trained on the man on the ground.

  “What’s going on here?” John asked, louder than he had planned, but gunshots and blood in the middle of the night weren’t the kind of wake up call he’d expected.

  Patrick Mason held up his hand and pointed to the man on the ground.

  “That’s one of the newcomers that came into town the other day. Apparently, he didn’t know that rape was against the rules.”

  Marta spit at the man on the ground. He moaned and clutched his leg tighter. “Goddammit, someone help me! That bitch shot me!”

  “What’s your name?” John asked the man. It came out more as a growl than speech.

  “Gino. Gino Machio.”

  “Well Mr. Machio, is that true? Did you try to assault this woman?”

  Gino spat on the ground at Marta’s feet. “Fuck you. I don’t answer to you or anyone else. Who the fuck do you think you are? The cops? In case you hadn’t noticed, there ain’t no cops anymore.”

  John kicked Gino in the stomach hard enough to make him gasp for breath. “Answer the damned question, asshole.”

  Sara grabbed John’s arm and pulled him back. Marta stepped forward toward John and Sara.

  “I was on patrol after the party, making my rounds. This son of a bitch came up to me and asked me to go with him. He said he needed help, that he had a sick kid back in his tent. I went to see and he pulled me in and tried to rape me.” Her voice grew softer as she spoke, her eyes glazing over. “I kicked him and tried to run away, but he came after me. He kept coming, pulling at me, trying to take me down to the ground, so I shot him.” She looked down at the pistol in her hand.

  John nodded. “It’s okay, Marta. You’re safe now.” Sara pulled Marta close and hugged her friend, smoothing her hair as Marta decided it was safe to let tears flow. John looked down at the man on the ground. “Well, last chance, punk. Are you going to deny what she just said?”

  “I ain’t saying shit. I want a lawyer and a trial.”

  John’s mouth dropped open. “What? Are you fucking kidding me? LOOK AROUND! Do you see a courthouse anywhere nearby?” He pulled his foot back to kick Gino again, but Sara stepped in front of him. “Hold on a minute, John. Maybe he’s right.”

  John and Marta both looked at Sara in confusion.

  “I know, but look, you have to set an example here. This isn’t going to be the last time something bad happens in the compound. We have to have some way to deal with it,” Sara said.

  Gino squirmed on the ground. “Yeah! You better listen to your bitch, Captain America.”

  Sara turned around and kicked Gino in the face. Blood spurted from his newly broken nose and flowed freely down his face. He fell backward onto the ground, gurgling in pain.

  “Shut the hell up while I’m talking. I would have put a bullet in your face if you’d tried that with me, then we’d see who you thought was a bitch,” Sara snarled at the bloody man. She turned back to John and looked expectantly at him.

  John stared down at the man, then up at Emmet and Uncle Patrick. Both men nodded to him. John sighed and rolled his eyes. “This was not in my job description.”

  * * *

  They held Gino in a tent by himself overnight, tied to an army surplus cot, with a simple bandage tied around his wounded leg. Sara took charge of Marta through the rest of the night, trying to comfort her as best she could while John held an impromptu meeting with Patrick, Emmet, Douglas, and Roger, along with June and May Mason. They stayed behind closed doors for the rest of the night and into the early morning. Sometime after nine in the morning, children began running from tent to tent, announcing that everyone was to assemble at the square in one hour.

  At the appointed time, everyone who didn’t have some essential function to perform gathered around the square, those in front sitting on the freezing cold ground so those behind could see. A smaller crowd of people gathered in a semi circle in the center of the square. John stood next to Gino, who h
ad his hands cuffed behind his back. His face was still streaked with blood, and both eyes had swollen up and started to blacken. A white bandage with a touch of red seeping through was wrapped around his leg. He swayed slightly as he stood there, trying not to put pressure on the leg. John gripped his arm to steady him, admiring the results of Sara’s well placed sneaker.

  Behind John and Gino, Uncle Patrick, Emmet Stoltz, Douglas, Sara, and Marta stood. All of them wore at least a pistol at their hip, with Emmet holding his double barreled shotgun, now cut down to a much more manageable length, aimed at Gino’s back.

  John raised his hand and the crowd grew quiet. “This man in front of you attacked one of our own last night. He did this deliberately, and with the intent to sexually assault someone who has stood on the line for many of you. She defended herself and shot him in the leg, justifiable by any logic.” John paused and looked around the crowd. He made eye contact with several people before continuing. “My first instinct was to shoot him. But cooler heads have prevailed, and convinced me that we must have laws here, if we want to maintain some semblance of civilization.”

  John pointed at the man. “He asked for a trial. And in a perfect world, he would have one. But we are not living in a perfect world. And so, we,” John pointed at the others behind him, “have decided the best course of action at this time, with our limited resources and situation, is to create laws that we will live by. And when someone breaks those laws, we will deal with that person swiftly and justly. These laws will govern us for one year. If at the end of that time we think our system is not functioning properly, we will revise it. Does anyone wish to speak against this now?”

  No one said a word.

  John nodded. “Right. We’re also not going to get into the business of regulating every aspect of your lives. I am not the government. No one here is. We are a family, a clan. We do things differently here. And so, last night, I asked a few people to help me figure out how to put down in writing what we all know to be common sense.”

  John saw Douglas shake his head a little at that. He sighed inwardly. It had been a long night.