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

by Cotton, Daniel

  Brass ignores the man’s gripe. “Folks, dinner will be ready shortly. I’m going to let you all go and get washed up. Gabe, what do you think?”

  “It’s all very impressive. You certainly--”

  Vida blurts, “Will you stay?”

  “Yeah, Gabe,” Brass mimics the girl’s exuberance. “Will you stay?”

  “For now at least.” He surrenders and is immediately hugged by the young woman.

  “Should I put him down for raping or non-raping?” Abby asks sarcastically.

  To which Brass coyly replies, “Let’s just play that by ear.”

  10

  The ribs were just as Abby had promised, fall-off-the-bone tender. Afterwards, Vida excitedly showed her new roommate to their place.

  Integration into the compact society has been slow, and Mike and Jen have stuck mainly to one another. Jake, on the other hand, acclimated quickly and made many friends. Gabe started working with Brass in the planning of their new outpost, his old farmhouse. Jen decided to offer her assistance in the childcare field, lending a hand at the bustling daycare and the small school they have set up. Against expectations, Big Mike did not join the soldiers when told of the upcoming boot camp. He’s an experienced hunter, NRA enthusiast, and has a military background, but ultimately decided to stick with what he knows, farming. One among them did express an interest in becoming a soldier for Rubicon however.

  “You can’t let her do this.” Gabe corners Brass at the supply market.

  “I can and I will!” Brass says. “What’re we talking about?”

  “Vida. She just told me she’s volunteering to become one of your foot soldiers.”

  “Oh yeah. She seems really gung-ho about it.”

  “I think she’s doing it for the wrong reasons. She--”

  “What are the right reasons?” Brass continues walking around the supplies, making notes in a little pad.

  An exasperated Gabe continues, “I don’t know! Can you please talk her out of it?”

  “Doubtful. She’s seventeen. Kids at that age are pretty head strong. Can’t even call them kids anymore. It’s her decision, not ours.”

  “But you’re in charge!”

  “Of the overall runnings of things! I try not to interfere with people’s choices, except here in the market. We have an overabundance of things people won’t touch, even when they’re starving. They sure as hell won’t touch them when there’s better options. I have to entice them to select the less desirable goods before they go bad. It’s like trick or treat candy. I always ate the nasty stuff first and saved the best for last. Pity not everyone has my restraint.” Brass ponders the pyramids of canned goods. With a finger along the side of his face, he asks, “Have you talked to her about it?”

  “I started to,” Gabe’s tone suggests his attempt failed. “She lost a lot to the dead.”

  “Who hasn’t?” Brass says. From where he stands, he spots a young shopper. “See that boy?”

  Gabe looks to the lad Brass singles out.

  “He’s fifteen. We found him early on in his house, locked in a pantry. He celebrated his fifteenth birthday in that pantry while his entire family waited in the kitchen for a chance to eat him: mom, dad, sisters. Some aunts and uncles even came out for the party. They all died, turned, and tried to get him. He must have been in there for a good two weeks, living off whatever he could open while keeping as quiet as possible. He’s one of our best soldiers. At first he had a nasty hatred for the zombies, but after a few times out he worked through it, became one of the team.”

  “He isn’t my concern,” Gabe says. “Vida is.”

  “I’ve been watching you folks. You stick to each other like glue. Seldom stray out on your own, except for a few hours of work. That’s to be expected, but at some point you have to go out and mingle and trust that you’ll be fine. Try to relax. She hasn’t even made it through boot yet.”

  “What exactly goes on in your boot camp?”

  “We train them. Think of it as a trust fall. We teach them to trust the group, but first teach them to trust themselves.”

  Gabe leaves unsatisfied. Brass watches him depart. He’s seen this before, over-protective fellow survivors unable to let go.

  Abby enters, passing Gabe near the door. They exchange a brief glance and Gabe shrugs.

  I haven’t seen that before, Brass thinks.

  “Hey, Brass what’s up?” Abby asks.

  “You know me. Living life, being awesome.” Brass suspects it’s his trusted advisor’s turn to ‘talk some sense’ into him. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let that happen. “Hey, Abby, what do you think of Vida?”

  “Nice girl. I hear she wants…”

  “She’s cute, huh?”

  “Yes, she’s very cute,” Abby says with a nod. “I just don’t think she’s--”

  “Let’s get her sized for some armor. Have Lady Luck outfit her today at some point.”

  “Brass, she’s not going to last five minutes at the big dance. She’s going to get groped like prom night and bug out.”

  “She might surprise us all. You don’t know.”

  “I’ll bet anything!”

  “I thought I smelled the stinky stink of a wager.” Brass sniffs the air. “What’ll it be? Jewels, a king’s ransom?”

  “I drew from the Dirty Deeds jar. Next week I have to clean the port-a-potties along the south side.”

  “Ok, but let’s take this to the next level. If she gets through boot, you have to clean them for a solid month. If she washes out, you never have to do it again.”

  “You’re on,” Abby says. “But you can’t go easy on her!”

  “Perish the thought. Going easy on her in training will just get her killed in the field.”

  ###

  Among the people busy in the armory making bullets, Vida hasn’t spotted Lady Luck yet, though she was told to meet her here. She hasn’t met the people that look up at her occasionally from their work as she stands fidgeting. She smiles to everyone and tries to look as if she belongs there.

  After a while, she ventures deeper through the racks of weapons and containers of ammunition. There’s a method to the arrangement of guns that she doesn’t quite understand. All black finishes are intermingled with walnut stocks and those with shiny barrels. She dares not touch what she admires for fear of damaging or accidentally firing one, she just slowly drifts up and down the rows, wondering how long it will take her to learn how to use them.

  The workers stir, bringing Vida from the aisles. She timidly looks out as the folks greet Lady Luck. The woman just offers them a flutter of her fingers without even a hint of eye contact. She always looks so serious, Vida thinks, feeling intimidated by the bus driver. Serious and sexy. Every action Lady Luck preforms is a seduction, from lighting a cigarette to how she prowls through the armory in her navy blue dress. The woman is a living pinup from head to toe. The garment she wears has a nautical theme with embroidered white anchors and fits her curves perfectly. Above her always perfect makeup job is her always perfect hair, set in tight curls that keep her black tresses off her face.

  “Out,” Lady Luck orders. That single word thrown over her shoulder sends all the bullet makers from their stations.

  Vida remains hidden in the racks, watching as the woman gathers black pieces of apparel from crates and sets them on a table. Though she doubts any harm will come to her, she can’t help but feel intimidated. Lady Luck exudes a confidence and strength she dreams of possessing.

  Lady Luck takes a quick inventory before she coaxes Vida from hiding. The bullet makers are still putting their things away, making sure the cans of powder are sealed tightly.

  “Hey, L.L.,” one man calls from the door. “Are you sure you don’t want some help?”

  The pinup girl just turns and answers him with a humorless glare that sends him packing. “Don’t worry about him. He was only kidding,” she says to Vida, who notices a slight southern belle accent. “You should have seen all the guys that
wanted to volunteer for my fitting. Men are so helpful.”

  Vida emerges and approaches. Materials for her first set of armor are arranged on the table. “We don’t get a lot of girls asking to sign up. All us ladies are rooting for you.”

  The idea that the females of Rubicon are cheering her on takes the edge off Vida’s nerves. “Why don’t more of them volunteer?”

  “Usually some guy talks them out of it,” Lady Luck says as she picks through the articles. “There isn’t much to it once you get through boot, really. It can actually be a lot of fun. Strip.”

  The sudden command to remove her clothes causes Vida a moment of hesitation. She looks towards the door, fearing peering eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” Lady Luck says. “No man would dare to enter during this, no matter how badly they may want to. It’s just us.”

  Vida shifts the attention away from herself as she takes her clothes off. “I like your code name.”

  “Stage name, actually. I grew up near here on my daddy’s junk yard, then moved west to Vegas.”

  “What was in Vegas?” Vida asks.

  “A dream,” the woman says simply. “I heard how much folks get paid out there for the most menial jobs. No one told me it was to counter the cost of living. So I arrived and found work, thinking I could make a killing doing something easy, but I had to bust my ass to make headway for what I wanted.”

  “What was that?”

  “To fly. My mom was a helicopter pilot in the navy. She had a small one she taught me the basics on. I wanted to run a tour around the strip and the Grand Canyon.”

  “Did you?”

  “Eventually.” Lady Luck holds out a shiny pair of chainmaille pants for Vida. The tinkling garment looks tight and heavy. “Put these on.”

  Taking the metallic pants, Vida is surprised at how light they are.

  “The rings are titanium,” Lady Luck says with a raised eyebrow. “Some of our people used to make this stuff as a hobby. Now it has a practical use, covering our asses out there.”

  “It’s cold,” Vida says. The pattern of the delicate rings allows the maille to move and stretch with her.

  “Feel all right?” Lady Luck asks, inspecting Vida’s knees to see if she must take out or add any rings. “It looks good. It’ll keep all your fleshy areas safe.”

  “Fleshy?”

  “It’s a good thing!” Lady Luck says. “Be proud of your curves.”

  “So what did you do before you flew?”

  “Waitressing. I saved every tip until I could afford the proper lessons needed to get licensed and get my hours logged in. In time, I was flying tourists across the desert, and to and from the canyon and the brothels. The last was how I was discovered, I was picking up a casino tycoon from one of the ranches. He liked my look and asked if I’d be interested in putting on a show at one of his hotels.”

  Vida slides her arms into a shirt of titanium rings and keeps them up so Lady Luck can fasten it. Lady Lucky shows her how to secure it around the hips to make it and the pants one piece. Then Vida moves to allow an inspection of the fit. “What kind of show was it?”

  “Burlesque. The art of the tease,” Lady Luck says. “It’s like stripping but sexy, and you don’t show it all. I was a hit. Sold out shows and made more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. I took my name from the nose of an old bomber that I used to play in inside my father’s salvage yard. I remember looking at the girl painted on the side and thinking how beautiful she was, and that someday I wanted to look like her. Most awkward tomboys dream of being something that they aren’t, I guess.”

  Vida can’t imagine this woman ever being awkward. A tomboy certainly, given her expertise with cars and trucks.

  A rubber cowl is presented to Vida, and she must bow to ease into it. Her hair is pulled painfully by the garment as it slides over her head. “Ow!”

  “Sorry,” Lady Luck apologizes and bites her lip in sympathy. “This part of it is the worst for us girls.”

  The cowl hugs Vida’s face tightly and makes her feel like a scuba diver or Batman. She can move her head, but there is resistance against her efforts. Then Vida is handed a set of black fatigues to put over it all.

  “I had everything,” Lady Luck continues. “I loved the attention from the men, at first. I loved all the money, the glitz and glamor of it. But I couldn’t fly anymore. I had all the freedom I could ever want, yet I was a caged bird. I had taken on too many shows a night and was too tired to fly. When I had time off there was always something else… until just a few days before the dead arose. I got a call from my brothers saying our daddy died. I didn’t even know he was sick. I dropped everything, walked out on my contract, and came back to Ruby. Instead of being where I should have been, I was putting on a show, dodging weekly indecent proposals from wealthy men, living a life I had always wanted and finally realized wasn’t for me.”

  Gloves and boots come next, both made of thick leather that Vida finds hard to move in. The gloves are stiff, and she can’t see how she’s supposed to shoot with them on. “The boots are a little big.”

  “They’re the smallest we have. Double up your socks tomorrow. It’ll help prevent blisters. But you will get many blisters, I’m sure. Before you class up, make sure you go to the market and stock up on moleskin and Motrin. You’re gonna need it.”

  “If you didn’t like being Lady Luck, why keep the name now?” Vida asks.

  “It’s who I am. Always have been. Even when I could only dream of looking like that pinup girl, I was strong and confident in myself. I was the kid who would do the idiotic, dangerous things while all the boys chickened out. When I got home, I realized I didn’t have to pretend to be Lady Luck. She was inside of me.”

  “So why do you still wear the clothes, and the hair?”

  “Because I look damn good in it!”

  The ladies laugh together.

  The final piece of the ensemble is handed to Vida--a black motorcycle helmet. She takes it, but Lady Luck doesn’t release it right away. In her hand is a white paint marker. “Some people re-name themselves. They re-invent who they are to survive. Some stay true to themselves. We have one guy that changes his name every week. Before you put this on, I want to know why you’re doing it. Why you’re gearing up against the dead. Are you doing it from the bottom of your heart, or is this a personal vendetta? The big pay back?”

  “I… I really don’t know,” Vida admits. “I had plans before. I had a boyfriend and a band. We were going to go to college. Well, maybe not Lloyd. But we were going to make it big. I lost it all in one night. I was turned away from my home and have no idea what happened to my family. I was chased and attacked by zombies and men. But above all that, I saw real heroes out there. Underdog survivors banding together to help, like here in Ruby.”

  “I lost both of my brothers in the first week,” Lady Luck says. “I saw my daddy claw his way out of his grave. I joined the team for the payback. I keep fighting because we’re truly making a difference. It doesn’t matter how we get our start. Eventually we all realize we can turn the tables if we stand together for the greater good.”

  11

  “Moleskin… Moleskin,” Vida mutters to herself as she searches the shelves of the store. She had trouble sleeping last night. Too excited and nervous about beginning her training. Lady Luck had her walk around in her full gear to get used to it, and then she helped her out of it and packed it all into an olive sea bag along with a roll of duct tape that she is to bring with her to the armory this morning. “What the fuck is moleskin?”

  “It’s on this side rack,” a voice startles her as its owner passes by the aisle.

  Vida goes to the end of the rack and finds moleskin hanging from pegs. She takes one then glances to where the helpful voice came from. Near the front, Brass arranges and re-arranges the canned goods. Abby had mentioned avoiding the man so early in the day. She’s alone in the quiet store with him.

  “So you’re the one that keeps moving stuff around i
n here?” she says on her way out.

  “No one else will do it right,” he says. “We have to move certain products that we have too much of, or are nearing their expiration dates. We have to take out what’s going too fast, stash some of it before it’s all gone. Then there’s the goods that no one wants.” He points to a dusty pyramid of cans that Vida’s perused before: artichoke hearts, water chestnuts, and lima beans. “What’re you doing up so early? You should be resting up for boot.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. Lady Luck said I should stock up on Motrin and moleskin.”

  “That’s a good idea. Get them now before you’re too sore to go out when you really need it.”

  “What should I expect today?” she asks. His sentiment about being ‘too sore’ has her worried once again. “Is the training that hard?”

  “It’s as hard as you make it on yourself. Really, it’s all about trust. If you trust in yourself, your team, in us, it’ll be cake.” He loads items onto a flat cart to squirrel away from customers. He leaves a few of each, but places new products among them. “You know what one of the biggest sellers is today?”

  “No.”

  “Cake mix,” he tells her. “Frosting too, and all the ingredients to make cakes from scratch. Sure, the factory made snacks cakes go fast--the candy, and junk food--but it’s the cake mixes I really have to keep an eye on.”

  “Oh.”

  “There’s a lot of celebrating in Ruby these days. Many birthdays and anniversaries that require cake.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “The guests of honor aren’t always there to blow out the candles. We celebrate their memory,” he says sadly. “No birthday boys and girls. Anniversaries minus a bride or groom.” Brass turns away and places a few boxes onto his cart. He pushes it down the center aisle, its wheel squeaking rhythmically. “I’ll see you in few hours.”

  Vida is no stranger to tributes to the deceased. Every year her family celebrated the Day of the Dead with an altar decorated with bunches of marigolds, and skulls made of sugar. It isn’t that far off, now that I think about it. Almost an entire year since the world itself died. Before leaving, she grabs one of the few remaining boxes of cake mix and a can of icing.