Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory

by Cotton, Daniel

“Car trouble?” a voice asks from behind, squashing his prayer.

  Since whoever this is already has the drop on him, Gabriel gives each lug one last jolt with his tire iron before rising to his feet and turning slowly. A man stands on the roadside, a rifle across his shoulders. Gabe’s still leans against the fender.

  “Yes,” he answers, trying to sound casual. “Just a flat.”

  “Why don’t you put down the iron and take a few steps away from that gun?” the man says, taking aim.

  Gabe does as instructed, facing what he expected. He knows Vida is smart enough to have gotten down out of sight. He hopes under the cover of one of their blankets. Powerless to stop whatever is about to transpire, Gabe puts his hands in the air.

  The gunman is wearing camouflage, but it isn’t military. His outfit consists of material printed with an actual photograph of the forest. “You got anything good in there?”

  “Just supplies.”

  The man reaches for the door handle after a quick peek in the back.

  Gabe shrugs bashfully. “I think I locked my keys inside.”

  A couple cursory tugs on the handle and a glimpse at the ignition makes the man laugh. “This ain’t the best time to be going senile, old man. You got Triple A?”

  The dead have gotten too close for comfort.

  “Come on, dumbass,” the man says. “We’re going for a walk.”

  Vida raises her head above the door panel from under the shroud of emergency blankets. Gabriel is being taken into the woods by a man with a gun, leaving her all alone.

  ###

  Trudging through the forest at gunpoint, Gabe follows his captor’s instructions like an automaton. They walk left or right until they come to a trail that they follow deeper into the woods.

  Gabe detects the smoky aroma of a campfire and the voices of two men talking and laughing.

  “…She always expected me to be some kinda marathon man. I was like, ‘Honey, if we did it more often, I’d be able to last longer.’ She never did get it,” one man says. “What did she expect when we’d go weeks in between, right? The fucking pressure’d get so built up, we were done before we’d even get started.”

  “Why didn’t you just do it yourself in between?” another says.

  “That’s exactly what she used to say! How the hell was I supposed to know when she’d be in the mood or not? Plus, do you think she’d let me have porn? No, of course not! They say love is never having to say you’re sorry. Well marriage should be never having to jerk yourself off!”

  “I’ve never thought about it that way.” This voice sounds younger than the other man, but neither is being very covert.

  “There was this one time she wasn’t in the mood. As usual, on her period. I swear she was always on her friggin’ period. So I ask for a blowie. She asks if a hand job will do. What am I, fourteen? There I am busting my ass, day after day, to give her all she could ever want or need. At least what I wanted was fuckin’ free.”

  “Is that why you divorced?”

  “Not entirely. She was giving that one thing I wanted to another dude. In hindsight, she wasn’t the marrying kind. Lured me in with the trap.”

  “The trap?”

  “Being hot and willing around the clock. So I moved her in and it was like living at the Playboy Mansion. It’s certainly true what they say. Men have more sex when they live with their girlfriend than married guys and single guys on the prowl. We were like rabbits until the damn rings went on…”

  “Yup,” the man escorting Gabriel agrees as he enters the small campsite. “Then you’re still like a rabbit. Just in a snare, being clubbed to death. You assholes are making enough noise, aren’t you?”

  Gabe is made to sit on a log near the fire. He has no idea what their intentions are, so he just observes them.

  The youngest of the campers looks to be in his early twenties. “Couldn’t you have just tried another position?” he asks the divorcee. “I read that men cum faster in missionary. You could’ve had her on top, or tried doggy…”

  The sideways glare he receives shuts his mouth.

  The man that captured Gabe says, “Uh oh, Skeet, I think our little friend has just broken the cardinal rule of male bonding.”

  “I do believe you’re right, Butch. We’ll have to punish him for that.”

  “That’s bullshit!” the little friend in question says. “I stopped pooping too close to…”

  “Not the first rule of camping!” Butch corrects. “When it comes to dudes hanging out, you never ever blame the guy.”

  Skeet nods emphatically. “When we complain about the old exes, we back each other up. You should’ve said something like; ‘fuck her,’ or ‘she had no idea how good she had it,’ even a ‘you’re better off without her.’”

  “That last one may no longer be applicable of course, since for all we know all women are gone,” Butch says. “Any poon in a storm is better than none, I suppose.”

  “True. We can learn from old Butch here. He’s willing to improvise.” Skeet, the divorcee, indicates Gabe. “I would ask what took you so long, my man, but your new girlfriend certainly does have a purdy mouth. Are those wedding bells I hear, or just banjoes?”

  Another staple of the male bonding experience: ball-busting. They all have a laugh as Butch grins and takes it until he has his own barb to sling. “Gentlemen, meet our new insurance policy. What’s your name, old timer?”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Welcome to the team, Gabriel.” Skeet raises a beer to him as Butch binds his hands with a length of rope. “I hope you last longer than our last policy.”

  “What do you mean by insurance policy?”

  “We need to find shelter if we want to survive this. When we find a place, we send you in to flush out whatever is lurking inside, and then we take care of them.”

  This information leads Gabe to the realization that something went awry with their previous attempt. He figures the life expectancy for this particular role on the team isn’t very long, but he isn’t concerned with his own safety. It’s Vida he thinks about. Gabe is worried she’s going to try and rescue him rather than heading for his farm. She has a map and knows the general direction, and he even showed her a picture of the place. Having failed himself for not being quick enough is a hard pill to take, but not knowing if she’ll make it there seems a far worse outcome.

  The laughter and jokes made by the three resume, at the expense of Gabe. But a snapping twig halts their frivolity.

  “Do you smell that, boys?” Butch asks his friends, sniffing the air as an unexpected visitor arrives at the site.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Skeet says. “Could that be the sweet smell of… weed?”

  “Not just any weed, man. My own personal strain.” A raggedy man sits among them without an invite, right next to Gabe. He offers a grubby hand to the captive, but Gabe can’t return the gesture since his wrists are lashed together. “The name’s Gar.”

  Along with the inviting smell of the smoke drifting from the man’s hand-rolled cigarette comes the strong stench of his body. The men have their weapons trained on him, yet he shows them absolutely no regard. He even goes so far as to lay his rifle on the ground next to him so he can pull his backpack off and set it in his lap.

  “What’cha doing in there?” Skeet asks the shaggy man, when he rummages through said bag.

  “I’m rolling you guys three of the fattest fatties you’ve ever seen, from the dopest dope you’ll ever smoke,” Gar says. He squints when irritating smoke enters his eyes. “It feels good to sit. I’ve been on the road for a while.”

  Skeet and Butch relax as the stoner rolls them up some joints.

  Butch asks, “Where’re you coming from?”

  “Waterloo. It’s a pretty big city up--”

  “We know what Waterloo is.” Skeet waves off the needless explanation. “Did you say you walked all the way here?”

  “Not all of it. I left there in a car, drove it until it died, grabbed a
nother one, ran it until it died. Once the snow cleared up, I just decided to hoof it.”

  “Where are you going?” the youngest of the campers asks.

  “Nowhere.” Gar shakes his head. “I’m just wandering the country, spreading the love.”

  “Giving out joints?”

  “Exactly! And planting the seeds for a greener tomorrow. At every mile marker I come across, I’m sowing my lovely Mary Jane for future generations. I do miss my hydroponic setup, but my strain will grow anywhere.” He holds up one of the illicit smokes. The men gasp at the sight of his handiwork, and he inspects it carefully. He doesn’t hand it off just yet, but sets it aside and starts rolling more while the men wait, eager yet patient.

  “All that walking,” Skeet says. “No wonder you smell so bad.”

  “Au contraire.” Gar raises a finger. “The smell is a good thing. It keeps the dead from bothering me. In fact, I highly recommend it.”

  “That’s how you got past the zombies on the road.” Butch smiles. “You smell like them.”

  “Yup. By the way, you may want to keep it down since the only reason I found you was by how loud you’re talking. I couldn’t help but overhear your plan on finding a safe house. Pretty smart, just like a bunch of penguins.”

  “Did he just call us penguins?” the young one asks.

  “No disrespect intended,” Gar says, while examining the second blunt before beginning the third, as if on autopilot. “I saw this nature show once where a bunch of penguins stood around a hole in the ice and wanted to dive in, but they couldn’t because there may have been hungry seals waiting for them in the water. So they pushed one of their buddies in to see if it was safe.” He changes the topic without warning. “You know, I’m really enjoying the south. I’ve never been down this way before. The growing conditions are just optimal. And I can’t believe how many fireworks stands I’ve seen. There has to be one, like, every half mile. All the good shit is gone though. Just sparklers and lady fingers left--”

  “Have you seen any women?” the youngest asks.

  “You’ll have to forgive Sammy,” Skeet says. “If a man can die from blue balls, I think his days are numbered.”

  “We found a porno shop.” Butch laughs. “We practically had to drag him outta the place. I think Gabe may very well be a literal insurance policy for our asses if this boy goes much longer. He has a desperate yearning to repopulate the earth single handedly, if you catch my meaning.”

  Gar bestows the men with their long awaited fatties, which certainly live up to the name. Butch and Skeet marvel at the heft of the gifts, then savor the aroma of the contents. Gar hands them his lighter.

  “I roll very tight, so you’ll have to work up a good cherry. Fear not, I will leave you with plenty for later. I can’t join you, for there are seeds to be sown and good deeds to be done.”

  “As far as ladies,” Gar turns to Sam, the youngest, “I have only seen one so far since leaving Waterloo. Well, one living girl that is. I came across her on the highway, Pretty young thing. In fact, I doubt I’ve ever seen a prettier girl, other than Kelly Peel.”

  “Oh, Kelly Peel!” Sam says excitedly. “She’s from Waterloo. Did you meet her?”

  “Not in person. But I did spend the day with her husband. The last day as a matter of fact. He was actually her future ex at the time. He went off to reconcile with her the last I saw of him. Did you know he cheated on her?”

  “On Kelly Peel?” Sam is astounded. “What’d the other chick have, like, three boobs?”

  “That’s what I said!” Gar’s mood visibly drops “The girl I told you about, the pretty young one, she had just lost her grandfather in all of this and had to head south all alone.”

  “Shoulda gone with her,” Sam says, trying to hold back a brief coughing fit.

  “No. I’m a lone wolf and my mission takes priority.” Gar slings his bag. “I have to spread Mary all over this great country of ours and find people to help. Besides, I told her I’d get her grandfather back.”

  The tightly packed joints explode like cartoon cigars, only instead of comedic charring they result in broken teeth and bloody burns. The fireworks stands may have only had sparklers and lady fingers left, but they were too great a temptation for Gar to pass up. The petite explosives don’t pack much of a punch, but enough to do some damage and distract the men while Gar rescues Gabe.

  “Come on!” Gar grabs his air rifle and Gabe’s bound hands, pulling him from the log he sits on. He leads the freed captive away from the howling men. Their caterwauling is more than enough to summon the dead.

  Figures emerge from the trees in front of the fleeing pair, while the men recover from the startling but nonlethal prank. Cries of pain turn into furious swearing of retribution.

  Gar shoves Gabe off the trail and jumps on top of him, using his smelly body as a shield until the walking corpses pick up the scent of the men he’s left bleeding by the campfire.

  The shuffling feet subside, and Gar brusquely escorts his charge to the road where he lights a sparkler. When he told Vida his plan, neither knew exactly where he’d pop out of the woods, so this signals she can come and pick her grandfather up.

  Gar spots a mile marker he hasn’t planted at yet. He quickly cuts Gabe loose before the blue sedan arrives, then the potsmith kneels and makes five holes with his fingers in the dry land. Moist soil is found just an inch below the crust. Into each earthen womb he places a single seed, pointy end up, and covers it. After a loving pat, he waters the ground with his canteen. He says a few words over his babies now that they have been committed to the soil.

  Usually he offers words of encouragement, but today it comes out as a eulogy. “I am so sorry, Mary. I know you are not a weapon of war. You are a peaceful, awesome herb that deserves to be treated with respect. But those men left me no choice. They were evil. And heroes sometimes have to make hard decisions. They were just like those jerk penguins on TV, man. A bunch of bullies.”

  Gabe enters the car only to be captured again, happily, this time, in Vida’s tight embrace. “Oh my god! Don’t ever do that to me again!”

  After Gabe was taken from her, she cried. She didn’t know if she should continue for their destination without him, or wait for him to return, if he ever did.

  The dead assembled around the sedan. She couldn’t move, and hiding was pointless since the zombies had already seen her inside. The first of the ghouls converging at the window didn’t greet her with a lazy slap against the glass, but a gentle rapping. Her eyes spilled tears as she looked at the zombie, but instead of a terrible, lifeless gaze she only met a pair of kind eyes.

  “Why are you crying?” Gar had asked.

  After Gar completes his mission, instead of joining Gabe and Vida at the car, he just starts strolling away. Screams and gunfire coming from the woods, the results of his fireworks sabotage, do not frighten him. It’s just the men defending themselves from the dead he lured to their camp.

  The girl and her grandfather cruise alongside the man, beseeching him to join them, to which he says, “No thank you, folks. My work here is done…” he rethinks his answer. “Actually it isn’t. I can plant more seeds at that marker. Your work here is done. Wait, you guys really didn’t do anything. Just sat there… I got it! Ask me again.”

  “Gar, will you please join us?” Gabe repeats, sounding confused.

  “Afraid not, Gabe,” the stoner says in a deep, steady voice. It’s what he believes confident heroes should sound like. “I have a mission to complete, people to help elsewhere, love still to spread.”

  “Where we’re going, I have a large plot of land,” Gabe says. “Many peach trees.”

  “Oooh, I love peaches!” Gar grabs the handle and jumps into the back of the car. With him, he brings his strong odor.

  Gar apologizes for his offensive smell, but the two in the front tell him it’s all right. Gabe simply cracks the rear windows to take the edge off while their interesting new companion regales them with his exploits i
n Waterloo, from his adventures with Randy Russell to his run-in with a machete wielding slasher. He relates a real-life soap opera he claims to have witnessed firsthand, complete with intrigue and betrayal, a murder plot, and an evil twin. It was at this point in his story he acquired what he calls ‘Sample Six’ and also dubs ‘God’s bugger.’ Gar claims it is what started the entire mess, and the third tier of his mission is getting the vial of green material to anyone who can use it for good.

  3

  Finally reaching the long, narrow drive leading to his home brings Gabe so much relief he can’t help but sigh. He wears a wide smile as the familiar cloud of dust rises around the car. He’s driven up and down the well-worn, rutted path countless times, but it has never felt so good to be home.

  The second the car is put in park, Vida unfastens her seat belt, ready to bound out.

  “Wait,” Gabe says.

  He looks at his home, finding it in the same state as he left it weeks ago. The windows haven’t been broken, and there are no bodies on the lawn or on his wraparound porch. This jars his nerves.

  His neighbor’s truck is still parked in the drive. He had asked this neighbor, though his home is barely visible from Gabe’s, to watch his house while he visited his son up north. Someone had to take care of the chickens in his absence, but he wasn’t expecting Big Mike to be here.

  The three exit slowly. Gar readies his air rifle as they round the late model pick-up.

  Gabe keeps his eyes on the windows, armed with his .22 pistol. It had once made him feel safe on his long-distance business trips, but it doesn’t do much for his confidence now. He has no reason not to trust Mike, except for the fact that the world has been altered and now all bets are off.

  The thin, white curtains part. It’s the slightest of moves, but it’s enough stop them in their tracks. They can’t be certain if there is someone inside taking a peek out at them, or if the fabric was brushed out of place by a draft inside.

  Gabe silently positions Gar and Vida at the truck to cover him as he makes for the porch. The old white swing sways as if a phantom is sitting on it, enjoying the glorious sunny day. Folks in these parts seldom lock their doors, but Gabe has his key ready all the same as he stalks closer to the lock. He keeps his small pistol aimed at the door while his left hand inserts the key.