Gabe can understand the need for caution around such a sore subject. He has never been one to cite that particular cliché, but he does believe in a higher power. One thing strikes him as odd in Brass’s rundown of the rights they enjoy in Rubicon. He’s talking like Gabe has decided to join already.
“I won’t be there long enough to offend anybody.”
“Yeah, I forgot.” Brass says with a smile, as if he has a secret. “Sorry about what I said. I’ve never been the type of guy to tell a kid Santa ain’t real. Organized religion has just never made much sense to me, even before the zombies appeared. It’s always seemed like salad dressing.”
“I don’t follow.”
“That sounded weird, didn’t it? What’s your favorite salad dressing?”
Gabe is uncertain where Brass is going with this, but hesitantly plays along. “Thousand Island.”
“Undoubtedly, that is because it’s what your parents put on your greens when you were a little boy. Sure, you may have tried other flavors, you may have even liked them, but Thousand Island is what you gravitate to when you can’t decide, and it’s what you always keep on hand.”
He’s absolutely right. Gabe has been keeping it in his fridge all his life.
“Religion is the same way,” Brass continues. “When many of us were young, our folks said ‘this is what we are,’ and we just went along with it, ate it up like Thousand Island.”
7
Released from Quarantine Alley, Vida and the other new arrivals are stunned by the bustling encampment. They walk among the people and gleeful children, following Abby to their new homes. After living a life where all five in the house had to be as quiet as possible, Vida feels like joining the young ones in their carefree frolicking, to laugh and run and scream for no reason.
Two trailers have been selected for them that are side by side. Vida has one all to herself, with Mike and Jen as her neighbors to make the transition easier. Their tour is on hold for now because Brass radioed in saying he’ll be arriving with Gabe, who will just be visiting. They are free to roam in the meantime, and pointed in the direction of the stores where they can pick up any items they need.
The stores are surrounded by a high wall of plywood that completely encompasses them. Orange placards are affixed that warn the place is scheduled for demolition and explosives are in use. All Vida needs are toiletries and other necessities, but she is thrilled by the prospect of shopping of any kind. The temporary home they had slept in last night had the basics, but she didn’t mind since it has been a while since she had a real hot shower, or put on clothes that she didn’t have to hand wash. The fresh cotton t-shirt provided for her feels like silk against her skin.
She thinks of all the things she has taken for granted her whole life. When Abby let her into her new trailer, she was awed by the interior from the moment he flipped the lights on, though it was just a modest space with modest furnishings.
The basket she carries around the grocery store is brimming with her favorite body washes and lotions, shampoos, and conditioners. She hasn’t even gotten to the cosmetics yet. Perhaps, I need a cart, she thinks.
“Wow, Vida, you can always come back for more later.” Abby laughs as he passes the makeup department. “You look like you’re grabbing a lifetime supply.”
“Oh my god! Am I taking too much?” she asks with concern over her hoarding.
“Not at all,” he says. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Keeps us sane. Go nuts.”
Vida stands in the aisle, looking items over. It’s been a long time since she has worn cosmetics. She starts by selecting her foundation and goes from there, organizing her choices by the order in which they are applied.
Once satisfied, she turns to Abby, meeting his eyes. An easy task since he isn’t much taller than she is. She has wondered about his name since hearing it last night. Then there is the one called Brass, and the driver of the Gunship’s name is Lady Luck. “Do I get to choose a cool nickname too?”
“If you want,” he tells her as they leave the aisle together. “I’ve been Abby since I was a kid. My name is actually Justin Abernathy.”
“Ahh, it’s nice to meet you Justin.” She shakes his hand. “I wasn’t sure if you were given a girly name as a kid to toughen you up.”
They share a smile as they stroll to Abby’s shopping cart. All he has in it are multiple rolls of heavy duty aluminum foil. Vida is glad to see she isn’t the only hoarder. “Are you making a million baked potatoes?”she asks.
“Ribs actually,” he says. “Brass wants to celebrate your arrival, and I happen to know the secret to making the best ribs you’ve ever tasted.”
“A celebration, and the tour is on hold,” Vida says suspiciously. “Is Brass trying to get Gabe to stay?”
“Probably. I don’t envy Gabe right now, being stuck in a car with Brass so early. The man isn’t much of a morning person. He’s prone to odd mood swings.”
“He seems like quite the character.”
“Oh, he is!” Abby says, and when she shifts her heavy basket of supplies, he offers, “Trade ya?”
“Thank you,” she says, and he places her plastic tote in the top of his cart, where one typically stores eggs or toddlers. “I still have so much more to get.”
“The first trip is always like this,” he says. “We often forget to tell newbies to grab a cart.”
“So, this Brass guy seems like an amazing leader.”
“Yes, he is,” Abby agrees. “Though he’d never admit it, he’s the reason for all this. He started it. He used to be the manager of this place. I didn’t shop here too often once the Ultramart went up not far away. They had better prices. I only came here when I needed just one or two things since it’s closer. I remember seeing Brass this one time, in his apron, pricing lima beans. A woman was causing a scene, raising her voice because the store didn’t carry the particular brand of whatever the hell she was there for.
“The place was going under, struggling to survive in the wake of that Ultramart. He tried to tell her that the item was sold out and they weren’t getting any more in, but she didn’t care. She started getting louder and he caved, gave her a comparable brand on the house. I remember thinking how weak he was. He would have given her his car keys if she had asked for them. Look at him now, leading us like one big, happy family. He’s our mother, father, best friend, and boss all rolled into one odd little man.”
Vida laughs at the last part. She hopes if anyone can convince Gabe to stay it’s this odd little man. He’s sure to stay once he sees the place, she thinks with hope.
8
“It’s good to be back.” Brass sighs in relief as he guides his Riviera through the town of Rubicon. Gabe studies the town he visited a couple times long ago, and it has definitely changed. Ruby looks as if a war has taken place, and been lost. The buildings have been leveled.
“What happened here?” Gabe asks.
“We happened here.”
They head deeper into town where all the rubble has been moved to form a wall that stretches as far as Gabe can see. Heavily armored vehicles are parked at the mouth of the barrier.
“So this is a military operation,” Gabe surmises from the markings on the trucks.
“Nope, I just have a lot of their toys, and some of their people who have gone AWOL or were rescued from fallen bases. My people and I travel to the forts and ports, clearing out the armories and motor pools of the lost causes. The tanks over there are more of a deterrent. Scarecrows for the living threats.”
As Brass points out his proud collection of hardware, all Gabe can think about is his son and Gloria. He doesn’t notice the folks in body armor and custom painted helmets that wave to Brass as they enter the confusing path of debris. “You’ve probably never made it to Fort Eagle Rock, have you?”
“No, we’ve never traveled into the Midwest. That’s where your boy is.”
“Yeah.”
“And here I am yakking about fallen bases,” Brass says, fee
ling bad regarding his insensitivity.
“It’s all right.”
The boxy, black two-door comes to a halt at a chain link gate. The men sit in silence while it is slid open for them. Up until this point, Gabe felt like he was rolling through old snap shots of Dresden. Crumpled ruins devoid of life. Now they enter a thriving society standing strong in contrast to the self-inflicted devastation.
###
The heft of the reusable canvas bags of personal items delights Vida as she walks back to her trailer. She tries not to think too deeply about the fact that such a simple thing brings her so much joy, lest she dredge up the underlying sorrow as to why. She focuses on the superfluous bottles and trivial tubes she has gained, and not on all the people she has lost.
It’s been a long while since Vida has been around so many people, yet she feels lonely. She has the opportunity to mingle and meet them all, yet all she wants to do is get back into her solitude.
But a late model car cruising through the neighborhood changes that. She drops her precious cargo at her door and runs to greet Gabriel.
Brass stops at Vida’s dwelling and exits, continuing an attempt at a subject change, “…like the people who would come into my store, looking for eggnog with the nutmeg already mixed in. Eww! Who the hell wants that? It’s supposed to float on top! The nutty grains that would stick to my lips with the first few sips is a cherished tactile memory. I also miss dialing on rotary phones…” He notices a smiling Vida approaching and realizes his last example predates her. “You probably have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
Obviously confused by being brought into a conversation at the end, Vida slows her rush to meet Gabe. “No, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Brass says. “I get that a lot.”
“This place is great, isn’t it?” Vida asks with her head pressed against Gabe’s chest in a bear hug.
“Yes, it’s most impressive.”
“We have over two hundred people,” Brass chimes in, looking for one in particular.
“We’re getting a tour in a bit. Will you stay for it? Will you stay for dinner?” Vida is positively bubbly with delight over seeing Gabe.
“You have to stay for dinner,” Brass tells him. “It’s only fair since some of the meat came from your friend’s cows. Both of you, head over to the appliance store in fifteen minutes. Bring the others. I can’t wait to show you around the chocolate factory.”
9
Gabe brought a present from his home, his guitar. He tenderly set the instrument on Vida’s sofa before she tossed her bags into her small bathroom and dragged Gabe to Mike and Jen’s place. Then, together, they proceeded to the store where the tour of Ruby will commence. She’s eager to see it all, even more eager for Gabe to see it and hopefully decide to stay.
They pass the plywood barrier around the strip mall. Graceful artwork done with spray paint depicts stories of past lives. Elegant graffiti spells out hopeful messages for the future and names of the fallen. From the danger placards and what Brass had said about his store, Gabe knows this wall stood before the dead arose. The place was scheduled to be demolished.
“So the secret to the best barbecued ribs ever is cooking them in the oven?” Vida asks Abby in the appliance store.
“Shh! Don’t tell anybody.” He puts a finger to his lips, careful not to get the sauce that coats them on his face.
Vida lead Gabe inside when she saw Abby hard at work through the windows. The young man pre-heats several ovens while he coats racks of ribs with barbecue sauce and seals them in carefully crafted envelopes of tin foil.
“I usually let them marinate in the sauce for a day, but these will still be great. The trick is to cook them like this for about two hours. Let them boil in their own fat. Then I coat them in sauce again and grill them just enough to put a nice char on.”
“I can’t wait,” Gabe says.
“It’s nice to see you again, sir.” Abby gives him a nod.
“Please tell me you’ll stay!” Vida blurts, unable to hold the plea in any longer.
“Well…”
“Oh, come on, Gabe!” Brass says behind him. “Your place is a mess. You don’t even have any stairs!”
“You’re the reason my stairs are gone.”
“Let’s not go pointing fingers,” Brass says. “Take the tour, eat some ribs, and think on it. ’Kay?”
With a sweeping gesture, he shows Vida and Gabe to the door. Then Brass steps to the counter and looks at Abby knowingly.
“What?” Abby asks, annoyed.
Without a word, Brass places four shell casing on the counter. The small metallic objects clatter as they topple and roll against one another. He just turns away to start the tour, leaving Abby calling after him regarding the shells.
“C’mon! It was dark last night! You’re being a child, Brass!”
Not a square inch of the compound goes to waste within the rubble walls. The lot is full from corner to corner with homes organized into a shanty town. Overhead is a myriad of pipes and conduits delivering water and power. Brass tells them how lucky they are to have a team of plumbers and electricians, since simple comforts like running water and lights make people feel safe.
The grocery store Brass once ran, where Vida enjoyed her first shopping experience in a long while, looks like any store before the plague at first glance. But after one travels deeper in, explores the aisles, they find the oddities of its setup. The meat department still offers choice cuts of beef and poultry, but it’s fresh. Slaughtered that very morning in fact. The tour guide shows them the back lot where the animals are kept and allowed to graze in the field behind the store. Well over a hundred cows, countless chickens, and dozens of pigs.
“The kids love it back here. Like a petting zoo,” Brass tells his group. “Back here in this shed is where we kill the fuckers. The cows and stuff. Not the kids.”
Back on the sales floor, the tour heads through the shelves packed with supplies to the sporting goods section that holds every firearm imaginable. Several would never be seen on a store shelf, available to civilians, before the zombie outbreak. However this is just the showroom, and Brass leads them into the back where more weapons are neatly stored upon racks.
Most of the products from the storage area are out where the consumers can grab them as needed to make room for an assembly line. Here, odd machines vibrate upon table tops filled with sand. Volunteers turn cranks and measure a curious black powder. At the center of the operation are peanut barrels filled to the brim with spent brass shell casings, waiting to travel through the line to become live ammo for future use.
The tour continues through a back door, to a plane of asphalt that serves as the motor pool. Where employees of the strip mall once parked, and stores received their deliveries, now rests the society’s fleet that range from small compact cars to luxury sports utility vehicles, from armored military trucks to a helicopter, and the very bus that carried the refugees from Gabe’s home, the Gunship.
Tinkering under the hood of the double decker is Lady Luck--the driver who looks as if she has time-traveled from the 1950s. Her hair is set in perfect Victory Rolls and she wears a dress unbefitting the job she performs. Her forearms are covered in black grease yet her black and white polka dotted garment is spotless. Tucked in the corner of her ruby red lips is a cigarette that trails a long ash on the end. One of her eyes squints as the smoke irritates it. She looks back at her audience then just resumes her work.
She is radiant, especially compared to the ugly vehicles of war she is surrounded by. Vida notices that the pinup girl painted on the olive drab sides of the bus is her, Lady Luck. If not for the matching anachronistic tattoos on her deltoids, a skull on each with crossing wrenches in lieu of bones, she would truly think she came from the past.
Greenhouses on the roof of the mall produce fruits and vegetables for the people, and more comes from the outposts that have enough land to grow crops. The newcomers watch people happily pull weeds and water
the plants. They’re a family, Vida thinks with a smile. Everyone does their part.
Brass ends the tour with that exact sentiment, “Everyone works, everyone eats.”
“Who says communism is a bad thing?” Vida chuckles.
No one joins in her mirth to her embarrassment, except Brass. The others look at her, puzzled, but he grins broadly. “That’s what I’ve been saying! Don’t feel bad. No one gets it when I say it either.”
“Great!” Abby appears among them. “Another one of you.”
“Vida and I just realize this is a commune, thus the term communism isn’t an evil word.”
“All I can think of is my grandfather spouting off about ‘pinkos’ and ‘commies’ when I hear it.”
“As long as everyone is working for the greater good, how can it be bad? It’s like camping or living on a farm,” Brass says with a clap of his hands. “Which is a great note to end the tour on. Give yourselves a week or so to try out the different areas where you think you can be the most useful. But don’t think you have to settle. Some of our people float from job to job because they are jacks of all trades. Abby, when’s dinner?”
“I’ll be grilling in about a half an hour.”
“Did you load my shells yet?”
“No, Brass, I’ve been busy,” the younger man snaps. “I might just try my luck at the jar.”
“What my cranky friend is referring to is the Dirty Deeds chore jar. Mostly quick tasks that no one likes to do but need to get done. He was in charge of gathering our spent rounds from last night and I found four that he missed. To make up for it, he must load one hundred rounds for every casing we almost lost.”
“It was dark!” Abby groans.
Life Among The Dead (Book 3): A Bittersweet Victory Page 16
