by Mark Tufo
"What's happening?" Paul asked as their circle of safety diminished.
"Huh, must be the batteries," MJ answered absently.
"Couldn't think to put in fresh batteries?" Paul asked.
"Can't expect me to think of everything," MJ answered him, a little miffed.
Zombies began to spill off of the stairway as the overcrowding became too great. The ones that had not damaged any parts vital to locomotion began to encircle the trio.
Within seconds before the trio could react, a twelve foot wide bubble of zombies encircled them. Then it was ten feet.
"This isn't fun anymore. I'm thinking we should leave," Paul said as he grabbed the edge of the box.
"In agreement," Alex said. Sweat alternated between running in rivulets down his back and freezing in place.
The circle had become eight feet in diameter by the time MJ got his side up.
"This is going to be a little closer than I thought," MJ said as a red LED light began to flicker on the top of the box.
"Let me guess," Paul said. "Low battery indicator."
MJ could only offer a weak smile in reply. Alex' rifle now went off as the circle became six feet around. The damage the bullet did to the human form from this distance was devastating. Pink gray, brackish brain matter exploded onto their brethren as Alex started to weed out the non-believers in the Power of the Bullet.
And still they pressed on. Paul and MJ kept shuffling backwards. They were careful to make sure that the zombies behind them were given enough time to react to the repelling effects of MJ's box. By the time the three were in front of the truck, a yard stick could have been held to the priest's forehead to measure the space. Black gore stained teeth gnashed wildly as saliva flowed from both sides of his mouth like a rabid dog. Alex had his back pressed up against the side of the box now as the three moved to the cab.
"Careful dude," Paul said as Alex almost jostled the heavy burden from their hands.
Alex didn’t comment as he shoved bullets into the magazine well.
"Screw it dude," Paul said as they got to Alex' door. "Won’t help much now anyway."
Alex nodded.
"Get up there man!" Paul labored.
Alex was hesitant to go first, but he wasn't holding the zombie repeller and this way he could, in theory, cover MJ's and Paul's retreat. Alex scurried up into the cab.
"Okay MJ, put your edge of the box on the step and get in the cab. Can you make another one of these?" Paul asked before MJ could get into the cab.
"Yeah, I've got everything already in my van."
"You mean the one over there?" Paul said, motioning with his head to the van now swathed in zombie kind.
"Yeah, that one," MJ said, bowing his head, "All that beer…" he said resignedly. "You're going to want to hurry," MJ told Paul as he jumped in, passing Alex on the way into the sleeper cab. Brown fingernails were separated from Paul's face by millimeters Paul eased his edge of the box onto the wide step. The box teetered precariously as Paul used the remaining strength in his arms to haul himself in and dive past Alex. Alex fired off two quick rounds at the closest zombies and immediately shut the door. The box fell to the ground as the big rig lurched forward.
MJ watched sadly as the van became a distant memory.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – Tracy, Ron, BT, Meredith, Tony and Henry
Tony turned his rifle in the direction of the oncoming sound of an engine at high rev. Meredith slid behind her dad, fearful of what this new threat might entail. BT walked up to Ron, gun clutched in his hand. BT's heart had just begun to take on a relatively regular rhythm from the preceding events and seemed a little reluctant to begin such a frenetic pace again.
Henry had climbed over the middle console and let himself out from the passenger side of the now nearly useless truck. With his two front legs in front he bowed his back and stretched. His mouth gaped wide as he yawned, his tongue lolling to the side.
"Rough day Henry?" BT asked.
Henry, in traditional form, did not acknowledge the big man. He walked over to Ron's truck and unceremoniously christened the front tire.
"What the hell Henry?" Ron chided the dog.
Henry walked past Ron and placed one paw on the running board, then looked over his shoulder.
"Is he serious?" Ron asked BT.
"Oh, very much so," BT responded.
"You know, if you lay off the gravy maybe you’d be able to get your fat ass into the truck by yourself," Ron huffed as he picked the dog up and placed him back in the cab.
Ron had no sooner put the dog down on the seat when Henry let out some voluminous flatulence. Even with the sound of an approaching car, BT could not keep from laughing.
"That'll show you to tell that dog off," BT said.
"Should've remembered that was Mike's dog," Ron said, ineffectually sweeping a hand past his face to make the disagreeable smell go away quicker. He had the feeling that the smell had somehow stuck to his hand and all he was doing was continually waving it past his face.
"It's Tracy," Tony said, putting his rifle up, the clenching in his jaw subsiding.
"I don’t think she's going to stop in time," BT said as he stepped away from the truck. Tracy 's tires screamed in protest as she took the on ramp at double the legal limit.
"Not another truck," Ron lamented, hoping that Tracy didn’t rear end him.
The front of Tracy's car dipped down as she laid heavily on the brake. She was barely going 2 mph when her front end collided with Ron’s truck, t he thud of impact did little structural damage, but Ron's truck could no longer be considered pristine.
"Dammit," Ron said softly as he looked at the seven inch scrape on his chrome bumper.
"Gives it a little character," his dad told him with a smile on his face.
"I liked it just fine without character," Ron answered him irately.
"Hi mister!" Angel said, getting out to survey the damage. "Sure was a nice truck."
"Sorry," Tracy said, hugging her brother-in-law.
"What's your name little miss?" Tony asked Angel.
Angel looked up at the grizzled man and that was it, love at first sight. She stretched out her arms, and Tony handed his rifle to BT in order to pick the little girl up. She was nearly asleep before her head hit his shoulder.
"That's my sister, Angel," Ryan said.
"You kids alone?" Ron asked the trio.
They all nodded in their various ways.
"You boys did good," Tony told them, "keeping this little one safe."
Ryan puffed his chest out. There was something about the older man. He had a calming effect on those around him. Ryan could sense something deeper but was too young to put words to it. If he had been able, he might have said Tony had an air of resolve about him. If pushed, this man would push back tenfold. There was a calm but it cloaked a tempest. He very much wanted to be on the good side of this man.
"You Mike's dad?" Ryan asked him.
Tony nodded, not wanting to speak and possibly wake the little package in his arms.
"Thought so," Ryan said beaming. Tony reached over and tousled his hair.
"We should go." Tracy said, relating the story of the zombies at the Arby's.
"Alright, let me pull up to Meredith's truck. We'll get the supplies and get the hell out of here," Ron said.
"Tony, you want me to take her?" Tracy asked.
"No, we're good hon," Tony answered. "I think we both could use the company," he said, gingerly getting into the truck. Henry looked over from the rear of the cab. "No farting, you!" Tony laughed as he scolded the dog lovingly. Henry licked Tony’s face, leaving a three inch swath of spit down his cheek. "Thanks." He dragged his free arm across his face to remove the slobbery kiss.
Henry seemed satisfied as he lay back down. Meredith scooted Henry over so she and Ryan could get in. BT walked back over to the other truck and started dragging stuff out to put in the back of Ron's truck bed. Dizz and Sty kept a vigilant look out for the zombies.
"Do you think they stopped following us?" Dizz asked Sty.
"Maybe they never even started," Sty told him, neither one taking his eyes from the on ramp. When monsters were real, it was worth paying attention. This wasn’t algebra, attention deficit disorder wasn’t going to be a problem.
"I think I see one!" Dizz yelled.
Ron came over. "Just the one?" he asked.
"Yeah, it's a shuffler!" Sty said.
"Shuffler, huh? I like that. Alright, one slow one shouldn’t be too big of an issue. Let me know if any of his faster friends try to crash the party."
"Don’t you think that's kind of weird?" Dizz asked his friend.
"What?" Sty asked as he threw a stone at the oncoming zombie, not even coming relatively close.
"I mean just the one zombie and a slow one at that."
"Probably not even from the same bunch," Sty said, humming another rock in the general direction of the zombie.
"Maybe you’re right," Dizz said, turning to see how the rest of the group was doing.
Sty bent over, looking for a suitable rock to throw at their guest. As he stood back up, Dizz and Sty’s looks of astonishment mirrored each other’s almost perfectly.
Sty's 'shuffler' was now in full on sprint mode, while Dizz watched dozens of zombies swarm onto the freeway from the west bound side.
"Zombies!" they screamed in unison.
Tony gently placed Angel in the shotgun seat. Thankfully she was still fast asleep, although that was likely to change in the next few moments. Tony got out with his rifle. "If I didn’t know any better," he said to BT, "I would think they were trying to ambush us."
"I think your 'knowing' is just fine. Ron, it's your call, but I'd really like to rid the world of a few of these maggot breeders," BT said with some vehemence.
Ron did a quick mental count of the assaulters, distance and firearms available. "Let's do it," he said calmly.
"Dizz, tell me when that zombie behind us gets to within a hundred yards," BT said as he shouldered his assault rifle and let loose a volley towards the oncoming horde.
"Dizz, Sty, get in the car," Tracy said. They didn’t need much encouragement. Dizz immediately turned to follow the progress of the zombie that he now realized was only the diversionary tactic.
Fifteen or so zombies had made their way up the embankment on the far side of the highway, but none of them made it past the median. The one that had staged the diversion actually made it the closest only to have his goal wiped out from under him as he met a chunk of high speed lead with his head. It really was never much of a contest as his skin split first, met immediately by the eighth of an inch of tissue that did little more than lubricate the projectile with blood as it passed through this small layer. Next came the fragmenting of the much thicker skull. Bone shattered like a hollowed out Easter egg under the foot of a petulant child who had not received a Nintendo 3DS for the rising of Christ's day. The bullet, much flattened from its impact with the brain casing, still slid easily through the black-gray diseased matter that had once entertained thoughts of becoming a restaurant owner and asking Alicia Barker to marry him. As the projectile came into contact with the rear of the zombie's head, it significantly slowed from its initial impact and gathered some inertia as it sought to fight its way out of the dark enclosure and back into the sunlight. The mushroomed bullet broke through the back of his skull leaving a hole roughly the size of a baseball. Any thought he might have still harbored of leading anything resembling life crashed to the ground in shattered bits of past memories, pains and joys.
"Well that was gross," BT said, shouldering his rifle. Ryan agreed adamantly.
"And a little disturbing," Ron added. "They are showing the ability to deceive and to employ tactics. Does this somehow tie back to Eliza, or is it just a natural progression of the zombies?" Ron asked the group. Nobody answered. There was no answer anyone could conclusively give.
"Just what the world needs, smart zombies," Tracy said. "Hell, we've already got men, that seems like overkill."
Ron arched an eyebrow. Meredith went over and high-fived her aunt.
"Cute, real cute," BT said. "Can we get the hell out of here now?"
"Yeah, I agree. Let's get home," Ron said
"BT, what do you want to do?" Tracy asked.
"What? NO!" Ron said. "We are heading home."
"Ron, I'm not," Tracy said softly. "My boys, all of my boys are still out there. I can’t go sit this out."
"We got unbelievably lucky here," Ron sputtered.
"Well, I wouldn't call it luck," Tony said as he rubbed his fingernails on his chest. "Skill is what I'd call it," he added, trying to throw some levity into the next few difficult minutes he knew were coming.
"Tracy, you don’t even need to ask," BT answered her original question, "By your crazy ass husband's side is where I want to live or die."
Tracy nodded her thanks.
Henry was looking for some assistance down from the truck seat. Meredith helped him down. "Dad," Meredith started.
"Not a chance!" he said vehemently.
"I started out to do something," Meredith said.
"Yeah, and it damn near got you killed!" he shouted. Meredith flinched, but didn’t back down.
"I have to do this," Meredith told her father.
Tracy wanted to try to convince Meredith to stay with her father. Enough people were already in harm's way, one less would be better. But she could also see the determination that Meredith held. This war was going to be won by the ones that took it 'to' the enemy and not 'from' the enemy.
"I don't think I can handle another good bye," Ron said, turning away from his daughter if only in a vain attempt to hide his tears.
"Dad, I'll be back," Meredith croaked out past her own eye leakage.
"You'd better be," he said. Meredith came over to hug him fiercely. She then circled the truck to give her grandfather a kiss on the cheek and a hug. Water flowed freely from all involved.
"Wow, Talbot men sure do cry a lot," BT said as he got into the car. It was not lost on Tracy as he discreetly pulled his sleeve up to wipe his face.
"BT, you hold to our original deal," Ron said, pointing a finger at the big man.
"Always," BT answered, quickly putting on his sunglasses.
"Missed a spot," Tracy said with a smile as she wiped a tear away on his cheek.
"Damn you woman," BT said.
"I won’t tell anyone," Tracy told him.
"I saw it too and I'm not promising anything," Meredith said smugly.
"Wonderful, what could I have possibly done in a past life that I deserved to be in a car for a cross country trip with TWO Talbot women? Did I shoot the Dalai Lama or something?" He asked the heavens.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – Alex and Paul
Marta was shivering uncontrollably even under the small mountain of blankets that Alex, Paul and Erin had gathered for her. Alex was pacing around the bed as Erin administered a cool damp paper towel to Marta’s forehead.
Erin directed her statement more to Paul but it was meant for Alex also. "She's burning up."
"What did she mean 'worse' Tommy?" Paul asked Alex. "Tommy's on our side, right?"
Alex looked over to Paul, his eyes tortured with pain.
"Is she being used like Justin was?" Paul asked hesitantly.
"The creepy kid?" April asked as she brought more wet towels for Erin .
"That can’t be it," Alex pleaded. "We know Tommy. The kid is always smiling.”
"My husband used to say 'Never trust anybody who smiles all the time, they’re up to something,'" Mrs. Deneaux said, throwing her two and half cents into the fray.
"Guess your husband never had to worry about you then," Paul said meanly.
"Paul!" Erin said.
"No, he's quite right," Mrs. Deneaux said, nodding towards Paul. "I always thought of smiling as frivolous behavior and my husband appreciated that right up until he decided to sleep with his secretary."
"Alrig
ht, way too much information," Joann finished. "I think we need to start figuring out what to do. I can feel the heat coming off of Marta from here. We should probably get her some antibiotics or something. And if Tommy is in her head and if, I'm stressing IF, he is on the other team now, are we in danger?"
"Well, I think we're always in danger," Mad Jack said.
"No existential crap please," Joann moaned.
"Sorry," MJ said, "I just thought it was worth saying."
"You know what I meant, all of you," Joann said. "How much more danger are we in now than we were twenty minutes ago?" That question hung somberly over their heads. Alex and Paul both had family that they were trying to get home to. The rest had thrown their lot in with them thinking they would be safer being away from a zombie homing beacon. Now that fundamental premise was being questioned.
"Go then!" Alex shouted. "It's what you’re all thinking, we've already done it once, what's another time? Your soul can only get stained so many times before one transgression becomes indistinguishable from the next!"
"Nobody said that," Paul said, trying to diffuse the situation.
"No one needed to say it Paul," Alex answered, his earlier anger ratcheted down a notch.
"I was thinking it," Mrs. Deneaux said. Paul shot her a fierce glance. She didn’t so much as flinch. "Oh, you can't be that naïve Mr. Ginner. Altruism is a wonderful trait, it truly is, but it is for the misguided. Why should one risk their own life for that of another with no promise of significant gain for the action?"
"Real humanitarian you are," MJ spoke up.
"Pah," Mrs. Deneaux spat, waving her arm at him.
"How much time do we have?" April asked as she looked towards the front door.
"That's the ten thousand dollar question, now isn’t it?" Paul responded distractedly.
"No matter what decisions we come to," Joann stated, "I think we need to get Marta some medicine first. Who's in?"
"Me," MJ replied, raising his hand, “but only if we stop at a Radio Shack too."
