Tales of Junction

by Davis IV, John L.

  Back outside the local draggers milled around the gas pumps in front of Campbell’s. There had been four earlier but now a half dozen had gathered. Tool stood at the corner of the building and tapped his makeshift spear on the ground to attract their attention. They turned in his direction, then as expected began to shuffle towards him. As each one got near enough he made a quick jab with the spear, under the jaw, through the rotten palate and into the runny brain. As the last one approached, it tripped on the pile of now truly dead that had accumulated a few feet in front of Tool. It grabbed his legs bringing them both down as it fell. Tool kicked hard, pulling his leg free before driving the heel of his boot into the draggers soft skull, splattering gooey grey matter in all directions.

  The area now reasonably clear, Tool entered and began to scour Campbell’s for anything resembling food. There was nothing of value in the main portion where even the shelving units had been looted, so he moved into the kitchen finding nothing but a few unused pizza boxes. In the back of the kitchen was a door marked “manager.” The office was a small room with a desk, filing cabinet, and a mop bucket. Tool was an ace scav who knew that places like this, overlooked by others, could be a real wealth of resources. In the filing cabinet he found four dented cans with the labels missing. The long narrow drawer held several pens and a box of paperclips. In the deep drawer on the bottom right of the desk, were two microwaveable meals and an open box of tampons, apparently the manager had been a woman. All things considered, it was a pretty good haul.

  Finding the immediate area zombie-free, Tool returned to the ladies room, opened one of the microwave dinners and slid it to the dog still lying in the stall. It ate every bite then licked at the plastic bowl for several minutes. When it finally stopped, Tool filled the empty container with water from one of his jugs. Again, the dog emptied it. Minutes later the dog inched its way towards Tool and laid at his side. Convinced that he had won the animal’s trust, Tool got to his feet and left the ladies restroom with his new companion at his heels.

  They made their way back to the first gas station. Even though he had not found near enough rubbers to pay off Filler, it had been a full day and Tool wanted to get another good night’s sleep inside the locked bathroom before starting back to Junction. The dog nestled next to him as both slept soundly.

  The pair emerged the following morning and saw that the zombies of Younton had been on the move. Perhaps it was just chance or perhaps the draggers had developed a sense of smell. Either way, Tool had no intention of taking them all on. His plan was to use the dense underbrush behind the old gas station as cover for their escape. He had taken only a few steps when the dog began to bark. Tool turned to scold the animal when he noticed that one of the undead had broken from the herd and was loping towards them, accelerating with each step. Bracing his spear against the ground at an angle he hoped would catch the sprinter in the chest, Tool leaned forward slightly to absorb the impact.

  His aim was off and the blade went in just below the sternum. The zombie’s momentum pushed the spear completely through the stinking creature who thrashed wildly at Tool as they toppled to the ground. Teeth snapped shut on his jacket lapel as Tool fought to get his knife hand free. The dog bit down on one of the zombie’s arms and pulled hard shifting the pile of rotting flesh just enough for Tool to wiggle his right arm free and plunge a knife through the back of its head.

  Tool got to his feet and ran for the relative safety of the brush. As he reached the cover he turned to see two more sprinters crossing the parking area of the gas station. With the dog leading the way they threaded through the bushes and saplings, trying hard to put some distance between them and the mutated undead. The crashing behind them grew ever fainter. Finally, the duo found themselves on a gravel road. Tool stopped for a moment to catch his breath and listen for the sprinters but could hear nothing but the rapid beating of his own heart.

  Looking at the dog, “Thanks for your help back there. I don’t even know your name.”

  The dog stared blankly back at Tool. “How about I call you Maynard?”

  They stayed on the dirt and gravel road until they came to the pilgrim camp Tool had encountered on his way to Younton, then headed east towards the highway. From there it was an uneventful five day walk to Junction.

  Be It Ever So Humble

  Mitch Burton opened the South gate for Tool and Maynard just as the sun was going down. They went in the front of Filler’s and grabbed a table near the door. Tool was hungry and in no mood to put up with any shit from Filler. He had only managed to bring back about fifty rubbers, not nearly enough to clear his debt. No doubt Filler was going to be an asshole about it, so Tool decided not to mention the tampons and maxi-pads. He’d hold onto those to barter with Janet and Trina.

  One of the girls brought him a bowl of the thick brown stew that seemed to be in constant supply. She looked at Maynard, “Is it eating?”

  “No, but we’ll need some water.”

  Filler emerged from the kitchen, all smiles. “You got ‘em?”

  “Not exactly. Found both the gas stations, just like you said, but between the two there was only fifty rubbers.” Tool pulled them from his pack and laid the pile of condoms in the middle of the table. “Hope you’re not picky about the brand.”

  “Better than nothing. Find anything else of value?”

  “A couple dented cans, no labels, if you want them.”

  “Sure, and I’ll take the dog too. It’s pretty scrawny, but meat is meat.”

  “The dog stays with me.”

  “We had a deal, Tool. I supplied you for the trip. Gave you the information. The dog is mine.”

  “Filler, the deal we had was for rubbers. Nobody said anything about a dog, but if it will clear my debt, you can have him”

  Filler laughed, “You got a fever, boy? That dog ain’t worth nothing!”

  “Then you won’t mind if I keep him, will ya.”

  It was a tense moment. Filler knew that Tool was serious and no matter how you sliced it, good scavs were valuable. Besides, the deeper in debt Tool stayed, the more control Filler had over him.

  “Ok, you keep it, but don’t let me see it in here. Ever, or it’s going in the stew.”

  “Soon as I finish this slop, we’ll both be going.”

  Tool grabbed two of the dented cans from his pack, placing them next to the rubbers. Filler bellowed loudly towards the kitchen. A girl appeared and grabbing up the items, hastily retuned to the back. Satisfied that their business was completed for the moment, Filler followed her.

  Tool finished the bowl of stew, ordered a second, and ate half before placing it on the floor for Maynard. When the dog had licked the bowl clean, Tool filled it with water from the pitcher. “That should hold you for a while. What say we head over to Janet’s? A girl for me and… well, I guess you can watch.” Maynard looked at Tool, not understanding, but clearly grateful to his benefactor.

  Like Cats and Dogs

  Just as he was walking out of Filler’s, Tool ran into Frito.

  “Just found out you were back. Wanna get a drink? I’m buying.”

  “Sure, but not a Filler’s. He doesn’t like Maynard.”

  “Maynard? You mean the dog?”

  “Yeah, Filler wanted him for meat, but… it’s a long story. Let’s see what Janet has to drink.”

  “She ain’t gonna let the dog in her place either cuz of that mangy cat.”

  “Shit. Forgot about that thing. What about Doc’s? Bet he’s got a bottle of something decent. Besides, I got some stuff he may be interested in.”

  “Yeah? What did you find?”

  “You’ll see.” A grin spread across his face as he patted his bag.

  Walking past Janet’s, they both stopped in their tracks looking in disbelief. “Is that Johnny Cash?”

  “Not my genre, but sure sounds like it.” Tool shaking his head.

  “Somehow I don’t think Burning Ring of Fire is appropriate for a whorehouse.”

 
; “Ok. Now I really need a drink. Come on.”

  They found Doc asleep in his chair as usual, a book laying open on his chest. Frito knocked on the open door. “Hey Doc, got anything to drink?”

  Doc sat up rubbing his eyes before sliding his glasses into place. “I think there may be a bottle around here somewhere.”

  The scavs exchanged knowing looks. Doc always had a bottle or two of Filler’s best stuff. Probably because Filler always owed Doc for treating the girls.

  “What brings you boys here? Got the drips again?”

  “Not this time, but I do have some things here you might have some use for. Mind if Maynard joins us?” Tool gestured towards the skinny dog at his feet.

  “He’s welcome, provided he don’t drink too much. What you got for me?” Doc smiled.

  “Found some maxi-pads. Figured you could use a few.”

  “That’s certainly worth a drink or two. They make good bandages. How many you got?”

  “How’s a couple dozen sound? Found them in a locked restroom while I was looking for rubbers.”

  “I don’t mean to tell you your business, son, but they don’t usually have rubbers in the ladies restroom.” Doc smiled again as he handed out the glasses of clear liquor.

  “Thanks Doc, I’ll remember that for next time.” Tool rummaged around in his pack and brought out the individually wrapped pads.

  Frito spoke up, “Filler’s gonna shit if he finds out you didn’t give those to him. You two aren’t on the best of terms as it is. What’s the story with the dog?”

  “Found him hiding from the draggers in Younton.” Tool told them the whole story. How he’d found Maynard and how the dog had helped out when the sprinter had taken him down.

  “Sprinters? What the fuck? Now they’re running? As if those stinking funkers weren’t bad enough.” Frito was not happy about this latest mutation.

  Doc held his hand out to the dog. “Why the hell did you name him Maynard?”

  “It was either Maynard or Stinkfist. Figured he looked more like a Maynard.”

  “Really? Those were the only names you could think of? What’s wrong with Spot or Rover?”

  “Or Blood?” Doc interrupted. “You know, the dog in the Harlan Ellison story?”

  Both scavs stared at him.

  “Never mind.” Doc decided it was too much trouble to explain. “What else you find out there?”

  “Just a few things for Janet. Care if Maynard stays here while we go over to her place for a bit?”

  “Sure. He don’t seem to be much trouble.”

  Let’s have another drink first.” Frito suggested. “Not sure I can fuck to country music while I’m still sober.”

  Doc filled their glasses again and told them about his recent exchange with Corey. Ending the story with, “I knew the little prick was up to something.”

  A Planet unto Herself

  The little bell sounded as Frito and Tool entered Janet’s. They waited just inside the door until the busty proprietor appeared, thankful that Johnny Cash was absent for the moment.

  “You boys lookin’ for a good time?” she asked.

  “Always! But how about a little business before pleasure?”

  “What you got in mind Tool, my boy?”

  Tool, unlike Corey, took no offense to being called “boy.” Janet was respected by most of the inhabitants of Junction, Filler being the obvious exception, and he knew that it was just her way of being friendly.

  Tool reached into his bag and pulled out a fistful of tampons. “Got any use for these?”

  “Oh, I might have a place for them.” She smiled as Frito shuddered at the mental image that flashed in his mind.

  “How many you got in there?”

  “How many will it take to set me and Frito up with a couple girls?”

  “A couple? You ain’t sharing tonight?”

  “We might yet, the night’s still young.” Tool winked at Janet.

  “You little perverts got a dozen more of them tampons and you can have two girls for the evening.”

  “Throw in a bottle and you gotta deal.”

  “Alright, but you’re gonna have to share a room and I pick the girls.”

  Tool glanced at Frito who shrugged, “If you’re buying I ain’t gonna quibble over little details.” The emphasis was on “little” and all three shared a laugh at Tool’s expense.

  “Sounds like a deal to me, Janet.”

  “Alright, you know the rules. NO ROUGH STUFF! Between that kid Corey and that shitdick Laidlaw two of my best girls are sidelined. Can’t afford to lose anymore.”

  “No worries, Janet. You know us, we’re gentle as kittens.”

  Tool paid Janet and she showed them to a small room with a mattress on the floor and a single chair.

  “I’ll be back in a minute with the girls and that bottle. Go ahead and start without ‘em if you want.” Janet’s laughter trailed off as she closed the door and headed down the hall.

  Filler Up

  Filler retreated to his office to update Tool’s account. Their original deal required Tool to bring back one hundred fifty condoms. In return, Filler would cancel his entire debt. Filler was still not happy about having a knife to his throat, but it was every man’s right to protect himself. Besides, Tool was a good Scavenger. Filler figured he would probably need his services again. He took out his ledger, a water damaged notebook, adjusted Tools balance down by roughly one third before returning it to a plastic milk crate under his desk.

  Filler looked around the room. Besides the old table that served as his desk there was a bed of sorts. A real mattress raised off the floor by cement blocks and boards. Under the bed were a couple plastic tubs containing some of his personal treasures. Items that Filler held dear because they reminded him of the life he had before the world turned to shit, before the virus was unleashed on humanity. Among them a scratched up, red toy tractor that looked a lot like the one his father had taught him to drive as a child.

  The farm where he’d grown up was fairly typical. Acres of rolling hills covered in corn and beans. A few pigs in a pen because dad claimed, “You can always count on hogs to make money.” An old wood barn for storing hay and a metal machine shed for the tractors and combine. Filler recalled jumping from the hay loft or handing his father tools as he worked on the old tractor. He’d had a great childhood. Even the long hours spent baling hay in the hot sun were a fond memory.

  Filler wondered what his father would think of him now. How would he feel knowing that his son had become a businessman? No doubt dad would not approve of the women in Filler’s employ. Not that he had anything against women working, but prostitution was frowned upon in the rural Midwest. Filler could imagine the conversation and the ensuing argument.

  After mother had died, they argued quite a bit. By the time Filler was eighteen they rarely talked at all. Each went about the chores of the farm as they had been doing for years. Both men knowing their roles and carrying them out in silence.

  Even when his father got sick, Phillip didn’t really talk to him. He brought him his meals and gave him the antibiotics the doctor had prescribed, though they didn’t seem to be helping. Phill even moved the little TV into his room so dad could keep up on the weather and crop prices. The news was full of talk about the sickness. How it drove people crazy. Made them violent and animalistic.

  Then one night as the ten o’clock news ended, Phillip heard his father shuffling around in the bedroom before heading down the hall to the bathroom. A few minutes later a shotgun blast shook the doors and windows of the old farmhouse. Phillip found his father in the bathtub, most of his head blown off.

  In the quiet of his office Filler muttered to himself, “I could have done it for you, dad.”

  Shaking himself back to reality, Filler decided to check on the girls. He still wasn’t happy that two of them were now pregnant, but as long as they kept working for him in one capacity or another he’d deal with it.

  Phillip Before Filler />
  With his father gone, Phil was busy trying to keep the farm going. The price of hogs had dropped drastically when some doctor hypothesized that the sickness was somehow tied to tainted pork. Corn and beans weren’t doing well either. Apparently, the whole world was either dead or going crazy.

  Phillip made a trip into town once a week to get a gallon of milk and a can of chew. Mostly it was just an excuse to talk to other people, to hear their stories, get some news. The small town of Cassady had never been a booming metropolis but now many of the stores were locked. Most had signs in the window reading “Closed due to illness.”

  He had just finished dinner one day when he heard the hogs banging around the feeders, making considerably more noise than usual. He looked out the kitchen window and saw Dave and Dorothy Wilson from the farm down the road. It looked like they were trying to get into the pen. They had always been good neighbors. Phil went to see what they needed.

  As he approached he called out a greeting “Hello.” At the sound of his voice they turned from the gate. It was then that he saw the milky white eyes and blood smeared faces, their clothing covered in gore. The Wilsons lurched towards him as Phil backed away, tripping over his own feet. He recovered quickly and ran to the house for the old Sears twelve gauge rusting near the back door.

  After months of watching countless internet news feeds, he knew how to handle the zombie Wilsons. Phillip used the bucket on the old tractor to scoop up the remains and haul them into a grassy waterway at the edge of the field before dowsing them in diesel fuel. As he stared into the fire Phil realized that it was time to leave the farm.