by Mark Tufo
I could see the workings of his mind as he tried to play out how this encounter could go down. I wasn’t going to give him the chance to reason himself into an early grave.
“You’ll lose.” I told him matter of factly.
“Talbot, what are you doing? What are you talking about?” Tracy said approaching from the far side of the room.
I didn’t take the chance to look over at her. “Do not come any closer Tracy! If you try to get in the way I will drop him where he stands!”
“Now see here!” Fred said standing up.
“Listen Fred! I don’t know who the fuck you are and I really don’t give a shit. Your showing up here has already put my family in jeopardy. Because I have these stupid fucking qualities called morality and honor. These WORDS are more than likely going to get everything I care about in this shitty little world destroyed. NOW SIT YOUR ASS DOWN before you give me a reason to get rid of you and all the troubles you entail!”
Fred complied. Tracy was inching closer but still not a threat to thwart me yet. Justin’s eyes shifted rapidly from my eyes, to the barrel of the AR, to my trigger finger, which was beginning to whiten at the knuckle. I think Justin was getting messages of ‘Go for it.’ He was sweating at the brow and his eye movements were becoming more frenetic.
“Justin stop.” I said calmly. “You’ll lose.”
“But so will you Michael Talbot.” The sound came from Justin but the words did not. “How long can you live with the guilt of killing your son?” He croaked out a harsh laugh. “What will your honor and morality do to you?” He/she laughed again.
“Dad, help me!” Justin cried, as he struggled to keep his wayward hand from gripping the pistol out of its holster.
“Give me Tommy.” Justin’s voice said. “And I will give you this back.” Justin said as he beat his fist against his chest. “At least for a while.” That grating laugh erupted again.
“Give you Tommy huh? And then what? Will you leave us alone? Can we get some paperwork signed to that effect. I’ve never been big on verbal agreements.”
Justin’s smile faded. “How funny will you be when your de...”
Justin folded in on himself under the assault of BT’s ham sized fist. “God I was sick of listening to her drawl on.” He fell back on the couch and was almost instantly asleep.
Tracy rushed over to Justin’s side. I went over and grabbed his gun. Tracy looked up at me. Hurt and anger were running through her but she didn’t know where to direct it. What I had done was not palatable but it was a necessary evil.
“Jen, Trav, tie him up and put him in the basement.”
Tracy stood up. It looked like Vesuvius was about to erupt all over again. But she had witnessed what we all had witnessed. Justin was a known threat that could not be swept under the rug any more.
“I just want him out of the way while we set up some sort of defense Tracy.” She nodded in agreement. “He’s a direct pipeline to the enemy. What he sees they see.”
“He’s my baby.” She sobbed.
Jen and Travis looked to me for direction. I nodded. “Bring him down some blankets. One more thing.” Jen stopped. “I want him blindfolded.”
“Why Mike?” Tracy asked, but the fight was out of her.
“The less he knows Mom, the less she knows.” Travis filled in for me. Tracy walked away face in hands.
“Carol we need to talk.” I waited until Justin was secured in the basement and Jen and Travis returned. I had the beginnings of a plan and it was pretty much a do or die scenario. Getting Carol on board was surprisingly easier than I had expected. We all talked there for a few hours going over the finer points and how we would deal with what could go wrong as opposed to what needed to go right. The list of ‘wrong’ was growing at a near geometric rate.
“This is suicide Mike.” Jen said after we had gone over the plan for the twenty-third time.
“Not really, I give it a solid 5 or 6 percent chance of success.” I smiled.
“Bullshit.” BT threw in. “It’s 3 or 4 at best.”
Carol, Fred and Esther’s faces drained of all color at our macabre humor.
“There’s a major flaw in your plan, Mike.” Jen said.
I laughed, what else could I do. “Only one?”
“You know what I mean, ass.” She finished.
“It is a big one I’ll admit that, not much I can do about it though.”
Jen sighed in agreement.
Once we had finished formulating our idea, I hate to say plan, that implies that you think it might actually work. idea gives it more of an abstract feel.
Tracy started to speak. “I...” I cut her off.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” She, as expected, started to protest. “This is not open for discussion.” I didn’t raise my voice but the force I laid on those words would have given pause to most Marines. Tracy plowed on.
“Mike.” She began again.
“No.” I said as I held up my hand. “Listen for the twenty three years we’ve been married I’ve known all along that I’m more of a figurehead, I know it and the kids know it. Shit, Henry knows it.”
“Yeah he does.” Tommy said.
“Thank you.” I said to Tommy.
“No problem.” He smiled.
“There have only been a handful of times in our long marriage where I have finally exerted an authority that is only implied.” Tracy nodded in agreement. “And this is going to be another one of them. We do this my way, Tracy. There are no other options.”
“Mike.” She said solemnly. “What makes you think that I could ever let you stand alone? All of our married lives we have met every challenge together. No matter the menace. I could no sooner leave you than I could the kids.”
“But don’t you get it?” I told her as I cupped her face. “You stand with me, you are walking away from the kids.” She pulled away.
“You can’t make me choose.” She cried.
“I’m not letting you choose Tracy. The decision has been made. Besides you heard BT, there’s a good 4 or 5 percent chance this’ll work.”
“I said 3 or 4.” BT chimed in.
“Thanks big man.” I said sarcastically.
“Whatever I can do to help. Oh and by the way, I’m staying.”
“Fuck.” I turned from Tracy to him. “BT that’s not what we discussed.”
“You gonna tell me otherwise?” He asked threateningly.
“Fine BT, your funeral.”
“Mike you said this could work.” Tracy said with desperation in her voice.
“It was just a figure of speech, hon.”
“Poor choice of words dad.” Travis chimed in.
“What is wrong with the peanut gallery tonight?” I asked the heavens. (There was no answer...go figure)
“Dad an extra gun could be useful.” Travis said.
“NO!” Tracy and I yelled in unison, at least we agreed on this one thing.
CHAPTER 25
The next morning was industrious. Fred was becoming more of a stalwart ally than I would have been willing to give him credit for. His knowledge of how to shore up a house for an incoming storm was invaluable. This wasn’t your proto-typical storm so to speak but the theory was the same. We wanted to keep the outside elements from coming in. Travis, Jen and I prepared more than a few surprises. Nothing that would stop them, alas I didn’t have a nuke, this was more of a giving the finger gesture. It was right up my alley. Had I known what surprises Eliza had for me, I might not have been so inclined.
Tracy and Nicole made preparations for our hopefully hasty retreat once the time came. She questioned me once on the room in the cars. ‘If there’s no room now Mike, then how will there be when we leave.’ I just stared at her until she understood and walked away.
To be fair, if this worked, it could be all over for all of us, not just some of us. Carol walked around this house in a daze. Crying as she randomly picked up objects and set them carefully back down in the same location. She was mou
rning a loss she hadn’t suffered yet, but I wouldn’t begrudge her that.
Esther, Jack and Jill killed 6 chickens for lunch. We had fried chicken fit for a king.
“Reminds me of home.” BT said longingly as he rubbed his belly. He had only awakened long enough to consume two of the chickens all by himself.
After lunch Carol and I headed out to the barn that housed the animals.
“Oh Mike.” She buried her head in my shoulder.
“It’s for the best Carol. You heard Fred, apparently they’ve expanded their diets.”
I could feel the revulsion convulse through her.
We had earlier taken care of the chickens. I burped quietly, my belly content in the greasy soaking. I opened the pigpen. The giant five hundred pound sow named Charlotte looked expectantly at me like it was feeding time. Her just removed suckling saw daylight and went, I would imagine whee, whee, whee all the way home.
Charlotte was having none of it. She had spent her entire life in this 15 by 15 foot stall while the human caregivers had constantly brought her food and water. Her rudimentary mind had come to the conclusion that she must be some sort or revered being. Which in all actuality isn’t too far from the truth. Problem being though when her end came it wasn’t going to be on a burning Viking ship. More like a burning barbecue pit with some spice rub and a keg of cold beer. Maybe the Super Bowl on T.V.
“Mike?” Carol asked. “You alright?”
“Sorry thinking about something infinitely better.”
“Aren’t we all.” She responded.
I could only nod in agreement.
Bessie saw me coming, her eyes widened in fear. Couldn’t say I blamed her. How long would it take to field dress a t-bone out of her? The chicken grumbled in my belly.
“You’re lucky old girl.”
“Lucky?” Carol asked. “She’s most likely going to freeze to death.”
“Oh that.” I answered guiltily.
Carol opened the door to Bessie’s pen. Bessie looked around in confusion. Sure she was a cow but she had to know on some level that when animals left this barn they didn’t come back. Had her time finally come? She looked directly at me. I must have had one of those huge cartoon clouds over my head with a hamburger in it because she took off for the door.
“Good luck girl.” I said to Bessie’s retreating back. “I wish we could have spent more time together,” as I rubbed my belly.
“Mike, don’t make me take back all those good things I said about you.”
I put my arm around her shoulder, as her tears flowed freely.
“It’s really over isn’t it?” She asked as she sniffed her nose.
“Pretty much.” I had come to terms with my fate. I’m not saying I enjoyed it or was looking forward to it, but there was a breath of freedom in it all the same.
Carol and I walked up to the old house. The departing cold winter sun was slowly being replaced by an even colder full moon. It looked as large as a plate as it hung low on the horizon.
“At least we’ll be able to see them.” I said.
“And that’s good how?” Jen asked as Carol and I approached up the stairs.
I don’t think the zombies much cared about the psychological effect of attacking at night. This was going to be more of a timing issue for them. When they got here they would attack, pure, plain and simple. As soon as Jen had helped Carol get back into the house, I reattached the rope alarm. No sense in getting caught with our pants down. Then I thought of Cash, and all of a sudden my analogy didn’t seem quite so humorous. The sun setting in the west and the moon rising in the east were near equidistant to the horizon, when I implemented the most crucial element of the plan.
There was some resistance and much wailing and gnashing of the teeth but in the end I stood firm and got nearly all that I demanded. BT smiled at me as if he realized he was the only fly in my ointment. For an hour Jen and I idly pretended to play cards at the kitchen table. BT had long since retired to his couch. I wondered if he would stay awake long enough to see this through. The house was unnaturally quiet. However that was more me imprinting my feelings on my surroundings. What noises should the house be making? At this point I was even beginning to miss Henry’s world-class ass attack.
BT, much to my amazement, was first up when the alarm bell rang...once and only once.
“Any chance that could be Bessie coming home?” Jen asked.
“For her sake, I hope that isn’t the case, I’m starving.” I told her.
“Me too.” BT said.
“Men.” Jen said exasperatedly. “Is someone going to answer the call?” She asked.
“Women first.” BT said gallantly. “I would but I can’t walk so good.”
“I’ll get it.” I told her. The walk down the hallway was dream like. I felt like a condemned man finally going to make atonement for his transgressions. As fucked up as it sounds, I wanted to say ‘Dead Man Walking!’ But I thought my last words should be something more noble. Like ‘Tell my wife I love her.’ I kept my stray thoughts to myself, why now though? Why all of a sudden? I might have brought the thought to fruition, but the death bell rang one more grave time.
“Wow, someone’s hungry.” BT said.
“Ugh.” Was the loose translation from Jen.
“Not cool BT.” I said without ever turning back around. I might have ran and hid if I did. He laughed it off. I grabbed the handle to the door and took what I felt was going to be my last breathe. I turned the knob, opened the door and laid witness to what can only be described as an awake night terror. Hundreds maybe thousands of zombies surrounded the house, the front line of them within a hand span of the rope alarm. The only being holding the rope was someone I knew all too well.
“Hi roomie did you miss me?”
I was more pissed than anything that I had shown weakness but I could not stop it. The splash of vomit that issued forth from me was no more stoppable than the incessant tide.
Durgan laughed at me as I slammed the door back into place. Jen turned white as a ghost when she saw my face.
“Bad?” She asked.
“You could say that.” The words tasted funny through all the bile.
“What would you say?” BT asked, looking a lot more serious all of a sudden.
“Um, fucking horrible comes to mind. Maybe really fucking shitty, that’s another set of adjectives I’d use, there’s...”
“Enough Mike, what’s going on?” BT asked.
“Let’s just say that the zombie invasion has made this ground zero and they have a leader.”
“Eliza’s really here?” Jen gulped.
“Why didn’t you shoot her, this could already be over.” BT said.
“Sorry, too busy puking.” I said as I looked out the storm shutter. “And no it’s not Eliza, she sent one of her lackey’s, its Durgan and he seems pissed.”
“Oh I can’t imagine why.” Jen said. “First you run him off from his own store. Then you kill all his buddies while simultaneously shooting his leg off at the knee. You cave-in his one remaining good knee with a leg kick and to then top it off you leave him locked in a cell surrounded by zombies.”
“See! You know what I’m saying.” I said pointing to Jen. “He started every single one of those encounters. I just ended them. And here he is again, starting more shit. I guess it’s up to us to finish it.”
“No sense in messin’ with tradition.” BT stated matter-of-factly.
It started like a whispering wind over a graveyard and turned into a full blown crescendo as thousands of tortured vocal chords tried to chant, what I could only surmise was a war cry.
“What the fuck is that?” BT asked. I could tell by his expression that it was as disconcerting to him as it was to me.
The house vibrated under the assault of the low bass range the collective moan put out. Zombies were one thing. This deadly lament was wholly something else. There was a bizarre feel to it as the oscillation passed through my body threatening to liquefy
the contents in my bowels. Was this planned? Did they know the effect this would have on us? I peeked through one of the shutters, hoping maybe to get a shot off at Durgan. He must have assumed this too because he was no longer in sight choosing to lead his troops from the rear instead of the front, I suppose. Well one good outcome from the moaning was that the zombies weren’t moving.
“Seems like we’ve got a bunch of blonde zombies.” I said pulling my face away from the glass.
“Huh? What are you talking about Mike?” Jen asked, clearly upset.
“They can’t moan and move at the same time.” I finished.
Jen rolled her eyes. BT shook his head.
“Hey they can’t ALL be gems.” I told them.
“Yeah but at least one or two would be nice.” BT yelled over the cacophony.
And as quickly as it had started it stopped. How could the moaning have been better? Because when the zombies were moaning they weren’t moving. The alarm bell crashed to the floor in a tumble of forewarning.
“This is it!” I yelled, louder than the situation dictated, nerves getting the better of me. “Might as well have a front row seat to the apocalypse.” I opened the front door, pulling the trigger on my rifle as I did, not even waiting to acquire a target, that would have been superfluous. It amazed me that they could even move forward being wedged that tightly together. Maneuverability was out of the question for them. I could only hope that as they closed in around the house that they would grind each other into oblivion as the space between them became less than non-existent. Some would surely die this way, crushed in a sea of zombianity. Good.
I was halfway through my first magazine when Jen stepped out beside me. She had moved on from her original pistol and was now touting her own assault weapon, an HK-17. I’ve got to admit even in the crappy predicament we were in I was a little jealous of her gun. It was a bigger caliber than my AR’s 5.56 mm round. It toted a much toothier 7.72 round, which had the added benefit of going in and out of one target and sometimes in and out of another. It was a pleasure to watch multiple heads snap back from the impact of her bullet. She was shredding through rows of zombies.
