Zombie Oasis

by Javan Bonds

  Devin let out a war cry and opened fire on the surprised animals. “Die motherfuckers, die!” he screamed as other gunners opened up on the enemy.

  Bullet holes puckered on blue skin as the enemy attempted to find an exit. These devious monsters were trapped and could do nothing but take the punishment. Each cannibal finally lay still and the crew ran to assist the tortured, naked souls heaped in shit.

  “Kill me!” one man with no arms, missing a leg to the hip, and three-quarters of the other leg groaned as a medic came to his side.

  Devin stood beside the man and gritted his teeth. He understood this man didn’t want to go on. “Rest, brother. You don’t need to be afraid anymore.” He slowly lowered his pistol and pressed it against the man’s head. The man offered a “Thank you” as Devin turned his head and pulled the trigger. He stood and slowly turned, trying not to think about what had just happened.

  The dude just fucking asked to be mercy killed and he did it! How could you live with yourself after doing that?

  Every man was fully in the room doing what they could for the dying, chopped-up people or re-checking that the murdering monsters were truly dead. None of the tortured souls could be stabilized. It seemed more humane to make their journey peaceful.

  Devin pried open a door that had been caked with shit around the edges, blocking out any light. After he opened it I realized why it wasn’t locked. Even the undead animals knew they were not going to be attacked from the roof.

  Devin let in the natural light, exposing the atrocities of the peevies to the day. He stepped out into the intensely bright sunlight and the others followed. I stepped out and shaded my eyes, turning to see what all the others were whooping and cheering about. A single Blackhawk helicopter sat atop a helipad. Devin smiled at me. “See? I told you there was a reason I came up here. This is fate. You’re always at the place you are always supposed to be.”

  19

  Mo Journal Entry 4

  I ROSE FROM my cozy spot on the wooden and completely naked deck. I stood and moved to sit at the roundtable with The Expert and The Old Friend. Chugging the barely heated swill that was called instant coffee didn’t seem to be killing my hangover like a cup of good, steaming, black coffee. These damn people were entirely too loud and basically screaming every word.

  Yes I admit that I like coffee hot. Dark, and black as hell. I know, I’ve heard the joke before. My father and my brother always add a touch of coffee to their sweetener and creamer. Unable to stand the harshness of a real man’s drink even if it is disgusting classic roast. I’d rather embrace my masculinity and rub my hands across my hairy chest. Dammit, never mind: I’ve seen second graders with more body hair than my pale and nearly bald frame.

  I have no idea how many attempts it took. Hammer finally got my attention after smacking her palm on the table. “Mo! We need to go below and map out how we’re going to get to the Gulf.”

  I nodded my head. We both began making our way to the galley where we stored the maps.

  ☠☠☠

  I noticed that the door to my room was still shut. Thank God I didn’t have to deal with my raving girlfriend. I had absolutely no clue how to handle that besides curling up into the fetal position and crying until she went away. In my mind I can picture most of our future arguments going something like what I just described.

  The galley was not only the ship’s kitchen, it had become the office. Do you think I really paid enough attention to know if it had been that way before the zombie apocalypse?

  We pulled a few maps from the filing cabinet and began working. Scratch that, The Expert began working and I supervised. Guntersville was basically at the bottom of a “V” in the Tennessee River. This meant that we would initially have to travel north either way. It was easy to see that it would be a lot safer and require less time to travel up and to the Ohio River and go down the Mississippi. I was glad Hammer didn’t want to do something crazy and unbelievably stupid like spend what could be years crawling down the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway. The Tenn-Tom, as it is commonly called, has a shit load of locks and dams that would have had to be opened and closed. Going down the Mississippi would save us what could be hundreds of miles and a few weeks. We would also have less of a chance of getting captured and raped to death by insane marauders wearing rip-offs of Mad Max costumes.

  It was unusual for the former pawnshop owner to choose the route of less resistance. I mentally slapped myself when I nearly asked her if that was really what she wanted to do. There was a guaranteed much more dangerous path we could travel. Going down the Tenn-Tom would probably end in our horribly excruciating disembowelments. Why be a pussy and take the easy road? Maybe all the lead inside her body had not driven her insane and she was giving me a break. Actually, it could have and she was hoping there would be more threats on the Mississippi River. Shit, now I’m freaked out! She could just be taking precautions because her sweet little girlfriend would be accompanying us on this journey.

  Hammer left the room to make her way above. I was still too stunned at her surprisingly sane decision and sat alone thinking over how this suicide mission might not be that catastrophic. Maybe I would only be horribly disfigured and lose only a couple of limbs.

  I continued sitting in the galley for what seemed like hours, unable to force myself to rise and face Sarah after our confrontation last night. Should I say I’m sorry? I don’t really have anything to be sorry about besides giving her a quivering lip and cringing each time her voice grew too shrill. We simply had to take this trip. Even if I had decided that I didn’t want to go, I had orders from the civilian government to go retrieve the cure. Shit, my father is the civilian government. Leaving will give me freedom from the authority of my parents. But I’m only doing so because Daddy told me to. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, I guess.

  For at least the millionth time I mentally rehearsed the possible scene The Love Interest would make when I gave her more details. The door flew open and I was sure she was sick of waiting, just came to put me out of my misery. I was surprised when The Oracle, fuming, came stomping into the room. How did he get below deck without me hearing him coming? There should probably be a glass of water rippling like in Jurassic Park.

  He sat down across from me and raised one of the sausages he called fingers in my direction. “Mufucka, we ‘bout to go round and round.”

  Was he really threatening me? “What the hell did I do?”

  He popped his neck and seemed offended. I had no idea why he was so mad. “We’s post to fetch my cuz.” I looked at him with confusion in my eyes. He continued, “And you’s plannin’ on goin’ da wrong mufuckin’ way!”

  Dammit, Hammer! Why did you tell him which direction we would be going? It’s none of his business to know how we would be getting from here to there. Hell, nobody had to tell him anything. He probably already knew all of this before we met. Which makes me ask why he would be upset?

  It doesn’t happen often. A brilliant idea came to me. I realized we could just let him off at the nearest point to Tuscaloosa via the Mississippi. “Chill, man! We can drop you and a few others off near Tuscaloosa on our way down the Mississippi.” I had to sweeten the deal. “And it will take us a lot less time to go down that way and we’ll get there quicker.” Of course, I wasn’t going to think so far ahead as to figure out when and where we would pick him up after he left Tuscaloosa. I’m not what you would call a tactician.

  His face seemed to soften. He understood I had not forgotten his reason. My large friend mumbled out an apology for threatening me with physical violence and hurriedly exited the room.

  Bullet dodged. Catastrophe averted. I relaxed back into my chair, glad I was not going to have to wrestle with The Blob. I would probably end up having to give him CPR!

  ☠☠☠

  As I was psyching myself up to go get screamed at, the door again banged against the wall as it flew open. What the fuck? Are there pissed-off people lined up to come yell at me today? I doubted Sarah h
ad come to render judgment and I simply waited for my next customer to sit at the table. I don’t know how I didn’t smell cocoa butter or expensive cologne.

  My brother was furious. “You fucking lied to me and I will fucking kill you!”

  I must admit that I am scared shitless of my younger brother. But I just wanted him to get to the point. “Now what?”

  He pointed down at the map on the table before me. “Tuscaloosa is south!”

  I was confused. I almost said, “No shit, Sherlock?” I stared at him with wide eyes, urging him to continue.

  He finally bellowed, “You want us to go the wrong way!”

  Didn’t I just have this conversation? Am I stuck in some kind of repeating limbo? I had to search my memory for why he would be upset about our direction. Not just that we would be traveling north, but I did not plan to snake down the Tenn-Tom. Dammit, I just remembered what I had promised him!

  I dropped my head, offering sheepishly, “We can stop on the way back.”

  “No. I know you, Mo. You’ll find a reason not to!”

  I don’t know how he knows me so well. It’s almost like we lived in the same house for most of our lives. Of course I would find some reason not to put myself in imminent danger. Especially after I had completed my quest and was so fucking tired of being almost killed in imaginative ways. I would “accidentally forget” to throw myself in front of a speeding train packed full of naked cannibals.

  I tried to sound more determined. “I won’t forget. We just–”

  My brother interrupted. “No! We go there first!”

  I fucking knew he would do this. Of course I tried one last time to take the easy road. “But–”

  He interrupted me again by pounding his giant fist on the table and screaming at the door. “Aka!”

  I knew if he didn’t get what he wanted then he wouldn’t go. Neither would his wife. I finally flung my hands in the air as I began ranting. “Motherfucker! Fine. Going that route will take a lot more fucking time and there will be a lot more fucking chances for us to run into people. That means there will be a lot more chances to get fucking raped and eaten! I hope that as you’re slowly eviscerated by your new boyfriend Bubba, you remember that the deaths of the entire crew are on your fucking head!”

  He crossed his arms and smiled as if he had not heard anything other than “Okay, we can do whatever you want.” Easy either spontaneously made thunder or clapped his hands. “That’s ggrrreat! Wait till I tell Bradley!” Yes, Tony the Tiger popped into my head as well.

  My sibling thanked me and hurriedly left the room. What the fuck is wrong with me? I just agreed to add another year to a mission that was probably already going to take at least a year. And no, I don’t know why I automatically assume we’ll run into living people and not simply peevies. Maybe I’m just being creative. I continued staring at the wall and thinking up different ways I would surely be tortured to death. I’m not talking about only the guaranteed meal plan. When I decided no one else was angry enough to come below deck and scream at me, I rose to go and face the music. Or my irate girlfriend.

  ☠☠☠

  As soon as both feet touched the main deck, I turned to my left to see The Old Friend and my brother. They were polishing motorcycles. On a boat. Seriously. What the fuck?

  This was strange as hell. “Why the fuck are motorcycles on the boat?”

  Bradley responded, “Mine’s not really a motorcycle. It’s a trike.”

  Well excuse me, ma’am.

  My question should not just be “Why the fuck are motorcycles on a boat?” but also “How the fuck are motorcycles on a boat?” Hell, the two slabs of muscle probably carried them up here barehanded.

  Bradley was putting the finishing shine on his chopper trike. I wanted to ask why the hell he had not been using it a month ago as a mode of transportation. I know I’m extremely lazy, I would definitely use something like that if available. You’d think with the three-wheeled Harley he could simply roll his chair onto it and lock in. It would save quite a few steps – I mean rolls. Although I’m not much of a car man, I had to admit that this beast was pretty nice. It was painted peevie blue and the grips on the handlebars were yellow. Awesome!

  I turned to see that my brother’s crotch rocket was similarly painted. I exploded with laughter. “Y’all did these paint jobs recently, right? Are you in some kind of gay biker gang or do you just want to look alike? Where are your matching leather vests? You might as well fly fucking rainbow flags from the back!”

  Easy appeared at my side instantly. I barely heard him move before I was doubled over, clutching my arm. “Ow! Did you really just ‘frog’ me? What grade are you in?”

  He was somehow already at my other side. The Mr. Clean impersonator, my brother, snapped his fingers down to ‘frog’ my other arm. It was impossible to hold both of my wounds. I screamed, “Fucking stop! Jesus, you ain’t gay, okay?”

  My brother seemed satisfied. He had made me take back my statement on his fruitiness. My earlier question was then answered.

  “Yeah. We had the guy at the Cadillac dealership give us both a new paint job. It’s pretty cool, if I do say so myself.” He scowled at me as I stood from the deck where he had put me . He spoke even more smugly. “And no, we ain’t in a gang. We’re just badasses.”

  “Gay badasses,” I wanted to add. Behind the matching bikes were two others. They were randomly colored and not matching. These would have been the luxury automobiles of average mortals before May Day. These were obviously just extras.

  I shook my head. “What the hell are these for?”

  My brother answered, “When we get close enough to Tuscaloosa, you can just drop the two of us and The Phantoms off. We will meet you somewhere later.”

  I nodded and almost threw my fists into the air. That was going to be one less opportunity for me to become rabid and naked!

  Wait, the Phantoms are here? I don’t remember telling them to be here this morning. I sure as hell didn’t see them board. Also, I did not tell Easy they would be accompanying The Medicine Man. I couldn’t figure out how he knew they would be part of the crew.

  I spoke in a whisper, “They’re here?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, man. So is everybody else. Even Mama and Daddy are here to say bye.”

  Dammit! I’m going to get hell for not telling my parents when we were leaving. At least someone is ahead of me and knows my schedule better than I do. Otherwise I’d wait until right before we were ready to set sail to let anyone know. It would probably wind up being tomorrow before we could leave. That’s what I was hoping, anyway. It somehow has to be Smokes’s fault.

  Putting forth effort to tell all these people just didn’t seem like The Oracle’s way. I asked my brother anyway. “Where’s Smokes? Me and him need–”

  We were both pierced by the motherly correction coming from behind us. “You mean, ‘He and I!’”

  I smiled and nodded without turning. “Yes ma’am,” came out ashamedly. I knew it would not be good enough.

  She waited with a hand on her hip. I mumbled apologetically, “He and I need to …”

  I may proudly claim to be a grammar Nazi when reading someone else’s work. My mom would make you feel like you have murdered a village full of starving children just for using incorrect grammar in speech! Mama, If you ever find this journal and I have not already thrown myself into a mass of undead, go ahead and fix all my grammar mistakes. Then you can tie the noose for me.

  I remember even in high school and my failure of a college career, I would ask her to look over a paper or something I wrote. Her response was always a tearful, “But you ended a sentence with a preposition. Why would you do something like that?” This is a personal journal, not a term paper. So if you – God, please don’t be my mother – are upset by incorrect use of grammar, put it down and find a pillow to cry on.

  ☠☠☠

  The both of us turned to face her. Teary-eyed, she asked us, “Why are you boys leaving again?”


  She had to know of the main quest with which I had been tasked. “Daddy and the doc need me to go get the cure.” I turned to Easy and thought about adding, “And Easy’s going to get some football souvenirs.” but I knew that would just get me another frogging. It would be better to let him tell her.

  My brother smiled just as you would expect an older sibling to. “I’m going to make sure Mo makes it back.”

  Fucking liar. I’m not a kid that needs to be protected by his hugely muscular brother. I’m a grown-ass man. Honest!

  I had to roll my eyes at her next statement. “Well, I know that the two of you will do great as long as you work together!”

  The two Collins sons nodded in agreement. We followed our mother to the table where the rest of the protagonists appeared to be gathered.

  “Captain Mo!” The Tech began with a smirk. “I’ve been working on the ship’s cannon and I believe it now works as a weapon.”

  Hopefully the conversations of everyone else would drown out my geeky question. “So it’s a Turbolaser now, right?”

  That apparently was his goal. He was genuinely disappointed not to have achieved it. “I wish. The solar panels don’t even provide enough power for an electric ignition. We would need a nuclear generator or some Heisenberg capacitors for that.” Gene smiled before continuing. “But it will fire explosive projectiles.”

  Holy shit! Grenades? A grenade launcher! I was finally going to get to fire one. It didn’t matter to me if I hit or was even aiming at anything. I now had a fucking Bazooka!